














































Class Zi 
Book ."P as \__Qe 
GopyriglitN 0 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 





















A 




AND 


OTHER STORIES. 


BY 

CAROLINE PARSONS. 



boston: 

EASTERN PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
6l COURT STREET. 


f2- 3 

, 

THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

JUL 18 1 903 

Copyright Entry 

ii-L. /r. / rff 

CLASS ■ — m* No. 

7 / sT 0 1 

COPY B. 


Copyrighted 1899, 

By 

CAROLINE PARSONS THOMAS. 


All Rights Reserved, 


contents: 


PAGE 

A Girl’s Confessional 5 

Women of Putney 33 

Thomas Warren. Cupid vs. Theory. 5 1 

Zilpah Treat’s Confession. ... 73 

Miss Bremen 1 1 1 

The Chalk Line 129 

A Squirrel Island Love Story. . 153 

Mrs. Weir’s Case 103 

The First Meeting of a Browning 

Club 209 

Cleones. A Story of the Fifteenth 

Century 226 


* 


A Girl’s Confessional. 



HE winter had been com- 
fortably and exasperat- 
inglywarm. Comfortable 
to the poorly housed, un- 
derfed and thinly clad. 
Exasperating to the pros- 
perous whose heavy top coats and jackets, 
fur lined and fur trimmed, elegant in material 
and fashioning, had lain hidden in moth 
chests or brought upon the desperate wearers 
the discomforts of a July sun. 

On the night of Dec. 30 the mercury 
fell forty degrees. Poor men shivered in 
their rags, cursed and stole. Rich men 
revelled in their furs, rejoiced and caroused. 
Which was more displeasing to the controller 
of the temperature it is not easy to say. 

The inmates of No. 459 Blank avenue, 
Chicago, enjoyed this fall in temperature 
5 



6 


A girl’s confessional. 


decorously and devoutly. They prayed for 
the poor and suffering, they made the house 
warm and cheerful and, arrayed in their 
most fetching winter costumes, went forth 
to delight the eyes and make envious the 
hearts of beholders. 

Four hundred and fifty-nine is a hand- 
some mansion, the only isolated house on 
the avenue. It stands in the center of a 
large lot, giving it an exclusive air and allow- 
ing the sun to shine in on every side ; both 
advantages are duly appreciated by its owner, 
Mr. Paul Verger. He and his daughter 
Pauline are, barring servants, usually its only 
occupants. Now, however, there is a house 
party there, four young ladies, former school- 
mates of Pauline’s. The girls are all past 
twenty-five ; they are graduates of Miss X’s 
school of New York, a school celebrated 
principally by the fact that it costs two 
thousand dollars a year to go there. 

The girls had come out six years prior 
to this date and had been pre-eminently suc- 
cessful debutantes, no day of their first sea- 
son being without at least four engagements. 
Now although just as handsome, just as well 


A GIRL'S CONFESSIONAL. 


7 


dressed and much more agreeable, they were 
no longer popular — “ to old for the young set 
and too young for the old.” They were, of 
course, included in all the five-hundred func- 
tions — those pay-up afternoon receptions, the 
stuffy, screeching abominations that every- 
body despises and everybody patronizes ; 
club hops, where one tete-a-tetes with his 
own set and snubs his grocer’s wife, deb- 
utante receptions, weddings and church 
socials. They were devoted neither to china 
painting nor mothers’ meetings. Not one 
belonged to a woman’s club and, although 
competent, it was not their habit to discuss the 
social problem and Robert Browning’s poetry. 
They gave to charity, often foolishly and 
always generously. They kept posted on 
current topics of interest in politics, religion 
and literature. They were merely ordinary, 
every-day girls, with plenty of money and 
some common sense. 

Pauline Verger was a tall handsome 
aristocratic girl, particularly proud of the 
coat -af -arms stamped upon their silver and 
stationery, a legitimate inheritance from 
ancestors, who, she believed, had always 


8 


A girl’s confessional. 


been at the very top of every social pyramid 
wherever their lot was cast. 

Mary Snyder came from Boston. A 
plain scholarly girl, also aristocratic and proud 
of an educated ancestry. 

Julia Cramer’s home was in Denver. 
She belonged to the “ newly rich at least 
her grandfather did. Her especial haughti- 
ness and air of consequence came from the 
fact that she possessed in her own right a 
good half million. 

Dora Green lived in the South, not far 
from Charleston. Her father had plenty of 
money, through the foresight of her grand- 
father, who sold his plantation and negroes 
early in the sixties, then went to Europe and 
stayed till the “ late unpleasantness ” was 
over. The family had come home after the 
war, bought the old plantation back again, 
hired the negroes, and was living sumptuously 
in as nearly the old way as possible. Dora 
was proud of her Southern birth and the com- 
forting fact that not one of her ancestors had 
ever done anything that could be called work. 

Grace Linton came from Cincinnati. She 
was not proud, not scholarly nor lazy. She 


A GIRL’S CONFESSIONAL. 


9 


was small, pretty and graceful, reckless, dar- 
ing and honest. Her father was rich, and 
that pleased her because it made it possible 
for her to do very much as she pleased. 

The girls had just come in from their 
walk full of health and happiness, which they 
attributed to the perfect winter day, not 
realizing the debt this fine condition of mind 
and body owed to comfortable, becoming and 
elegant apparel. Seated in Mr. Verger’s ele- 
gant library, Mary Snyder read aloud from 
Richard Harding Davis’s stories. She had 
finished “ That other woman ” and the girls 
had reached that point in their heated dis- 
cussion as to the correctness of the heroine’s 
behavior, where men came to blows, fistcuffs, 
and women came to blows, not fistcuffs, but 
quite as painful. 

“ One would easily suppose,” said Paul- 
ine, who had hotly defended the girl, “ that 
you had some good reason for taking that 
fellow’s part.” 

“ But you know I haven’t,” Mary answer- 
ed, “you know I would have every man 
as pure and honest as he requires his wife to 
be, but I do think everybody should be fairly 


10 


A girl’s confessional. 


judged, and I consider that fair judgment 
would look upon our sins and the sins of our 
brothers from an entirely different stand- 
point. We are guarded from infancy till we 
are safely landed in our husband’s arms or 
buried, while our brothers are sent away 
from home, sometimes as mere lads and left 
wholly dependent upon their own consciences, 
subject to the vilest and most alluring tempta- 
tions. I am coming to believe that every 
one of the “Thou shalt nots” of the ten com- 
mandments are equally binding ; that we are 
not privileged to enforce three or four merely 
and disregard the remaining seven or eight — 
to dishonor one’s parents — to lie about one’s 
neighbors — to covet, is as surely a violation 
of the law as to steal, kill, and so forth.” 

“ Only very wicked people break the 
commandments,” said Dora, “ I never even 
take the trouble to say, “ incline our hearts 
to keep this law.’ ” The girls smiled. Dora’s 
respect for her parents and for the truth in 
society gossip was not perfect. 

“ Mary,” said Pauline, “ suppose you 
judge from these different standpoints, you 
will find girls are not so easily tempted, 


A girl’s confessional. 


1 1 


and they are naturally better than boys.” 

“ No, they are not,” Mary answered. 
“ Temptations and favorable opportunities 
are not constantly inviting them. When 
they do, they yield quite as often as the boys 
and judging from the conditions are just as 
guilty in the sight of God and the angels, I 
mean. We judge sin by the consequences ; 
they by the motives.” 

Oh ! how tiresome you all are !” Dora 
exclaimed. “No nice girl is ever wicked and 
nice men always are.” 

“ We are,” said Mary, “ fair samples of 
closely guarded girls, with as few tempta- 
tions to wrong-doing as any. Suppose each 
one of us conscientiously tells the one act of 
her life of which she is most ashamed. My 
story will likely be the most humiliating, but 
I will tell if you all will.” 

And it was agreed that at midnight on 
Dec. 31 they would make Pauline’s sitting 
room their confessional. 

This room was unusual and beautiful, 
Its ceiling was frescoed in dark reds and 
blues and gold. Its walls were covered with 
pieces of choice tapestry of Pauline’s select 


12 


A girl’s confessional. 


ing. On the floor lay rich Oriental rugs, 
and the couches, hammocks, chairs and cush- 
ions were of the same harmonious colors. 

There were palms and rubber trees, 
roses and lilies, and tonight a table laid with 
daintiest linen and china, shining glass and 
silver, with chafing dish, coffee-urn and all 
the necessities of a delicious feast. There 
was a cheerful fire in the grate and the soft 
light from many electric lamps shone through 
glass and under shades of the same rich Ori- 
ental coloring. In the center of the room, 
Pauline had placed a comfortable chair, foot- 
stool and cushions " for the penitent,” she 
said. 

At twelve o’clock the girls came in one 
by one, gowned in loose house robes of 
bright-colored, silky, clinging stuffs. There 
was an effort to keep up their customary 
chatter, but only Dora seemed to consider it 
a lark. She arranged her blue gown and her 
yellow curly head prettily and comfortably on 
the dark, soft cushions in a red silk ham- 
mock. 

“Isn’t it jolly fun, Julia ?” she said, and 
Julia, with a scared, anxious face, remarked : 


A girl’s confessional. 


13 


“ Yes ! Awfully jolly !” 

‘‘Oh you look jolly, Julia,” said Grace, 
“ you remind one of the woman who enjoyed 
funerals. For my part, I feel as if I were 
about to be buried alive.” 

“ Rather,” remarked Pauline, “ to be res- 
urrected, with the books of the recording 
angel wide open.” 

“Let’s begin with the oldest,” said Grace, 
“ Which is it, Mary or Pauline ? I forget.” 

“It is Mary,” Pauline said, “She is a 
week older than I.” 

“Very well,” said Mary, “the sooner 
begun the sooner ended. I cannot despise 
myself more than I do, and if you despise 
me it will only be what I deserve.” 

“ Don’t do it,” said Grace. 

“I want to,” Mary answered. She sat 
in the penitential chair. Her dress was of 
some rich dark red material with collar and 
belt that flashed and sparkled as if made of 
veritable precious stones. Her long black 
hair fell way below her waist, she looked like 
an Indian princess. 

“My! Isn’t she stunning!” Dora ex- 
claimed. Mary looked annoyed and moved 


14 a girl’s confessional. 

uneasily, as she said: “To make a long 
story short, I copied every word of my 
graduating essay ! ” 

“ Oh ! that’s nothing,” remarked Dora, 
“I never wrote one of mine.” 

“ Don’t interrupt me,” Mary answered, 
“I copied verbatim from one of T. S. 
Arthur’s books, because I knew they were 
not often read. You remember the subject, 
‘Blessed Are the Beloved.’ The temptation 
and the opportunity came and I yielded. I 
was just as guilty as poor James Barton when 
he forged his uncle’s check to buy his 
engagement ring, everybody deserted him, 
even his sweetheart ; I don’t wonder that he 
killed himself — he was a fine fellow, too.” 

“ You certainly could not expect any girl 
to marry him after that,” said Dora. 

Without replying, Mary continued : 
“This is not all. The rest, Dora will un- 
doubtedly think very reprehensible. You 
remember the professor from Amherst, that 
asked to be introduced to me after the grad, 
uating exercises ; you remember he followed 
us to the mountains that summer. I liked 
him from the first, I suppose I loved him. 


A girl’s confessional. 


15 


Before the summer was over he asked me to 
be his wife. I simply could not. I had to 
hear that essay praised by my family and 
friends, and though he had never spoken of 
it, I imagined I should be obliged to hear 
how it had attracted him, and I fancied our 
children being told how he heard that essay, 
and so forth, and so forth, and my sensa- 
tions and his, if some day he should come 
upon the original. I refused him and then 
I suffered for two years, till I could bear it 
no longer and I determined to tell him. 

“ You remember the time we spent the 
holidays in Philadelphia and I was two days 
late ? I went to Northampton on my way ; 
I stopped at a hotel ; I dressed in my most 
becoming gown and with my heart fairly 
bursting with the hope of forgiveness and 
more, I sent for the professor. He was 
greatly astonished and when I finished, add- 
ing that because I loved him I had come, he 
said it was not my essay that had attracted 
him — he had recognized it — he never ex- 
pected original productions at girls’ com- 
mencements, but he thought Miss Farns- 
worth’s was her own and since I had assured 


1 6 A girl’s confessional. 

him I did not care for him, he had sought her 
and really had committed himself. 

“ How do you suppose I felt ? And par- 
ticularly as I wrote every word of Jane 
Farnsworth’s essay — a willing accomplice in 
dishonesty. I suppose no one of you can 
realize my feelings when he had gone and I 
prepared to continue my journey, and I sup- 
pose it will be just as difficult to conceive 
my humiliation and disappointment.” 

“ How dreadful !” Dora exclaimed, “ But 
then he has likely never told anybody.” 

Grace made a place for Mary on a couch 
by her side and with her eyes full of tears* 
took her hands and held them while Pauline 
went to the penitent’s seat. 

The most striking of Pauline Verger’s 
many fine points was her shapely head and 
her majestic way of carrying it. It pro- 
claimed the aristocrat, not only forbidding 
advances from strangers, but also preventing 
the comforting confidences of an intimate 
friend. Of all her acquaintances, Mary Sny- 
der was the dearest and yet with Pauline she 
was never familiar. 

“I think it but just to me,” Pauline 


A girl’s confessional. 


17 


began, "to say by way of explanation that 
during the time I am about to speak of I was 
under some powerful unrecognized influence. 

I have wished many a time that I cou.d write 
well and impressively, I should long since 
have published this story, hoping to influ- 
ence, to warn and to save some impression- 
able young girl a similar humiliation. 

"Mary will remember the man from Cali- 
fornia, a guest of her friends at the seaside, 
the summer following her experience in the 
mountains. He was a small, thin, intelligent- 
looking man with shining black hair which, 
parted on the side, waved across a fine broad 
white forehead. There was some charm 
indescribable in his eyes. They were some- 
times brown, sometimes gray, always beauti- 
ful, with a strange fascinating power, remind- 
ing me of the wonderful serpent’s charm. 
They spoke unutterable things, but so gently, 
so worshipfully, that they must attract the % 
young and unsuspecting. 

"I think we all felt from the first that 
this man was not trustworthy, and I as keen- 
ly as anyone ; yet, I realized that never in 
my life, had I been so wholly under anyone’s 


1 8 A girl’s confessional. 

influence, and I liked it. I was glad that he 
chose me. I thought of him constantly and 
though I kept my secret well, it must have 
seemed strange to Mary that I so eagerly did 
the things I had always refused to do — bath- 
ing in that ice-cold water for instance, and 
sailing after a storm — I endured torture for 
the sake of being near him. The thought of 
who he was, of what his family might be 
never once came to me. 

“ On one particular evening, when sev- 
eral of us had gone down on the rocks to 
watch the sunset, he and I strolled away 
from the others and sat down too far off for our 
talk to be overheard. Taking my hand in 
his he said he would tell me the story of his 
life. He said at nineteen, his father had 
justly obliged him to marry an Irish house- 
maid ten years older than he, that he lived 
with her until he had forced good and intelli- 
gent people to recognize her socially, then he 
had hired her to get a divorce. 

“ ‘Soon after, he figured as co-respon- 
dent in a divorce case, and the husband won 
the suit ; ’ but I will not continue the vile 
story of his escapades ! I listened with only 


A girl’s confessional. 


19 


pity and sympathy in my heart. When he 
had finished, he asked me, ‘if after knowing 
all this, I would let him kiss me/ and I kept 
still while he did so. Just then the rest of 
the party joined us. 

“The next morning I expected him to 
come and formally propose to me, and I re- 
solved to accept him. I knew my father 
would object, and I planned an elopement, 
for I felt life without him would be unbear- 
able. I had chosen an unpopular veranda 
corner for my hammock, and he found me 
there. He sat at my feet and repeated the 
story of the night before, enjoying, I sup- 
pose, the torture he was inflicting, and the 
watching of its effect. When he had finished 
he said he had neglected to tell me that he 
had married secretly the divorced woman, 
and so our only relations must be of the 
French kind. 

“ I was not so wholly under his influence 
that this insult could not dispel it, and I left 
him without a look or word. I did not see 
him again. I kept my room until he left, 
pretending I was not well, and indeed I was 
not. A few months after, someone sent a 


20 


A girl’s CONFESSIONAL. 


paper to me with a notice of his death and a 
short account of his life, and his tragic, vile 
yarn to me was absolutely false. He had 
evidently tried how deeply he could shock a 
silly girl and keep her still in love with him, 
and I listened to this false confession of a low- 
born vulgar scoundrel, and loved him and let 
him kiss me.” As Pauline left the chair, her 
manner was such as to forbid comments. 

“ It is your turn now, Dora,” said Mary. 

“ Oh no ! Julia is several days older than 
I am,” answered Dora. 

“ I have always thought it was the other 
way,” Julia said. “But I am willing to tell 
first.” 

It was evident that Julia Cramer had 
conquered in some soul-trying conflict, and 
that now, with martyr-like composure, expect- 
ing undeserved punishment, she would make 
her confession. 

“ I have done many things,” she said, 
“ of which I am ashamed. Any one of them 
would, perhaps, be more interesting and less 
disastrous to me than the one I am about 
to tell, but I promised to confess the one 
thing of which I am most ashamed, and 


A girl’s confessional. 


21 


perhaps I should, long since, have made 
you acquainted with my family history. I 
suppose none of you, who are to the man- 
ner born, can in any way appreciate the 
agony of one, who, ambitious and fit to hold a 
high social position, is constantly baffled and 
humiliated by the presence and behavior of 
one or more relatives with whom she has 
only a name in common. I say this in my 
mother’s defense. 

“ My father’s parents were poor, unedu- 
cated, common people. By fortunate invest- 
ments of a little money left him by an uncle, 
my grandfather finally became rich. Then 
my father, his only child, married from a circle 
way above him socially. He was not an 
unattractive man, and my mother doubtless 
loved him, bnt she forgot when she accepted 
him that she must also accept his family. 
People have fine theories about one’s duties in 
such matters; to practice them is another thing. 

“ My grandmother was a large, loud- 
speaking woman. Her voice actually made 
my delicate mother shiver. She had no ap- 
preciation, no knowledge of the niceties of 
life, which were necessities with my mother. 


22 


A GIRL’S CONFESSIONAL. 


Mother never treated her roughly, but 
from a child, I remember her constant efforts 
to keep grandmother out of sight, and I, who 
had been given my grandmother’s name, was 
her constant companion on these expeditions; 
visits to tbe springs, to the mountains and 
to the seashore, she, I and a maid. I think 
my grandmother enjoyed these outings 
although she knew why they were planned. 
I was with her so constantly that she came 
‘to love me/ she said, ‘best of all the world.’ 
As I grew to womanhood her society became 
distasteful to me, and mother, realizing that 
a change must come, sent me away to school. 

“ I have always felt that I have no right 
among you, and yet the fact that I have a 
great deal of money and could do generously 
my part in all things, made me feel that per- 
haps after all I was not an interloper. 
After I graduated and went home, Adele 
Walton chose me as her most intimate friend. 
Her father, Judge Walton, belonged to one 
of the most exclusive and aristocratic fami- 
lies in Denver. Nothing had ever come to 
us that so delighted my mother. 

“ The effort to so arrange things that 


A girl’s confessional. 


23 


Adele should never by any chance meet my 
grandmother, cost many anxious hours. If 
grandmother would only have kept still we 
could have borne it, but she would talk. 
She was not only illiterate, but she had a 
habit of taking everybody into her confidence 
and telling them everything about us from 
the coachman to father. The day of my 
coming-out party approached. Grandmother 
was full of interest. She hinted mysteriously 
of some astonishing present that she meant 
to give me for my name, Julia Jenkins, after 
everybody had come. 

“ It was impossible to allure her away 
and I suffered agony in picturing her possi- 
ble performance. A few days before the 
party, I was at a girls’ luncheon, and one of* 
them told how she had managed her mother 
on an occasion when she had wished to go 
somewhere without her knowledge. A young 
medical student had given her a perfectly 
harmless prescription, which she had put in 
her mother’s coffee. It had made her feel 
sick for a few hours and she had stayed in her 
room. The girl had gone and had never 
been found out. I cannot describe my con- 


24 


a girl’s confessional. 


tempt for a girl who would treat her mother 
so ; but the idea of giving those drops to my 
grandmother on the day of my party took 
possession of me and haunted me continually* 
promising a perfectly harmless solution to 
my problem. The girl had said in concluding 
the story, ‘the prescription is 5 549 at Brown's 
drug store ; if anybody wants it, it is signed 
ZZ.’ 

“ I had the prescription filled. My mother 
never dined when she was to attend a party 
and I knew I would be at the head of the 
table and could easily fix grandmother’s cup 
before dinner. So I did, and when she 
turned her coffee into her saucer, as was her 
custom, and drank it, remarking that ‘it had 
a peculiar taste,' I trembled lest my father 
should investigate, but he did not. 

“After dinner I was so busy being 
dressed for the party, receiving flowers and 
looking at the rooms, that no thought of 
grandmother came to me, and I was going to 
dance, when a servant whispered to mother. 
I heard mother say, ‘no, not now,' and I 
noticed they looked at me. When I had 
been dancing about an hour, my father came 


A girl’s confessional. 


25 


to me, his face was very white and his hand 
trembled as he laid it on my arm, ‘Come with 
me,’ he said, and I followed him from the 
room. On our way, he said, ‘your grand- 
mother is very sick and asks for you.’ 

“ I thought immediately of the drops I 
had given her and a great fear came upon me, 
least there should have been a mistake in 
the prescription. I was seized with a ner- 
vous chill, and putting his arms around me 
my father said, ‘My little girl loves her grand- 
mother ; she does not mind if she has vulgar 
ways ; she knows there is a kind heart under 
it all.' He led me to her bedroom. A phy- 
sician stood beside her bed. 

“ ‘What is it ?’ I faltered. 

“ ‘Heart failure,’ he answered, ‘ I have 
long expected it. ’ 

“ ‘Is that all ? ’ I asked, ‘ Is there no 
other cause ?’ 

“ ‘None, I think,’ he answered. 

“ Then I turned to my grandmother. 
She held her wrinkled hands out to me. 
When I came near she drew me down to her 
and held me close. ‘My girlie,’ she said, ‘my 
own girlie, she loves her old grandmother. 


2 6 


A girl’s confessional. 


She does not care if she is awkward and 
homely and old-fashioned. My little girl. 
My precious little girl/ and with these words 
upon her lips, holding me close to her, my 
grandmother died/’ 

Pauline met Julia as she left the peni- 
tent’s chair. She put her arm about her and 
led her to a seat near her own. 

“Now, Dora,” said Mary, wiping her 

eyes. 

“ Oh dear !” Dora answered, “indeed I 
have nothing to tell ! When we all promised, 
I reckoned we would make up good stories, 
I never thought of sure enough confessions. 
I have never done anything bad in my life, 
and I don’t think the rest of you have. To 
be sure I have copied essays and I have been 
engaged a great many times, and I suppose 
some men who are not saints have kissed 
me, but I really have nothing to confess.” 

“What a comfortable conscience you 
must have,” said Grace. “It’s my turn, 
then.” Grace Linton was the most unselfish 
and so the most lovable of these girls, and 
yet she frequently wounded her friends. She 
was a “born mimic.” When a tiny girl, her 


A girl’s confessional. 


2 7 


mother, from her way of walking or of 
speaking, could always tell who her latest 
playmate had been. And now she imitated 
anybody perfectly, often unconsciously but 
never intentionally unkindly. 

Her heart had been full of sympathy for 
Julia, mingled with a resolution to love her 
more than ever before. There had always 
been an indescribable barrier separating Julia 
from the others, and Grace was afraid her 
confession would make this barrier insur- 
mountable, but proud Pauline’s action had 
happily settled Julia’s future, and made 
Grace jubilant. She sat bolt upright in the 
penitent’s chair ; laid her hands on a folded 
handkerchief in her lap ; drew her face to its 
greatest possible length, and changing her 
rich contralto voice to a squeaky soprano, 
she said : 

“ You all know my Aunt Lucretia ?” 

The recognition was so immediate that 
the girls dapped their hands, exclaiming 
“ Perfectly ! Yes we know her !” 

“ Young ladies should not be boisterous,” 
she continued, “and to laugh aloud is to be 
boisterous.” Returning to her own sweet 


28 


A girl’s confessional. 


self, she said : “ Well, this same aunt of mine 
has preached one stupid sermon to me since 
I have been old enough to listen. The 
text was men, and the teaching, that they 
were deceitful above all things and desperately 
wicked. On no account should any young 
woman desire their acquaintance, and even 
if the desire were uncontrollable she should 
never in the slightest degree allow anyone 
to imagine that she cared in the least. 

“Now, when I was thirteen I fell in 
love with our minister, a man about sixty ; 
and when I was sixteen I was in love with 
my music teacher, a man about thirty ; these 
are the only instances when I have at all 
experienced the tender passion, but my Aunt 
Lucretia continually imagined me to be 
infatuated with somebody, and continually 
talked to me of its silliness. I never bought 
a gown that she could not easily surmise 
whom I was trying to please, and when I 
banged my hair her disgust was almost 
unspeakable. 

“Well, this grew tiresome, and I had 
my own theories as to the reasons for her 
tate of mind and I decided to test them. 


A girl’s confessional. 


29 


“I arranged with a friend at Dayton to 
receive and mail letters and then I wrote a 
note to Aunt Lucretia. I burned all letters, 
but I learned them by heart, so will repeat 
them as nearly as I can. The first one, was : 

“ ‘To the loveliest of women : 

“ ‘I have seen you. You were walking with that 
plain niece of yours ; that may have enhanced your 
beauty. Will you pardon me aDd write just a line to 
your adorer ? 

Gustavus Bellefontaine.’ 

“ I wish you could have seen the effect. 
Aunt Lucretia was a little woman, under 
forty. She grew tall, she held her head high, 
and she said, T think you are mistaken,’ 
when father spoke of some pet theory of his. 
She had always agreed with him in every- 
thing. Soon I received, through my friend, 
her answer. 

“ ‘Most Respected Sir : 

“ ‘My heart is not cold and your note had touched 
it. I shall be happy to hear from you again. 

Your friend, 

Lucretia Linton.’ 

“The correspondence, more or less 
affectionate, was kept up for four months 
and then I asked her for her picture. She 
soon appeared at the table with her hair 


3 ° 


a girl’s confessional. 


banged as I had never dared to cut mine ; 
she wore the most fashionable of gowns, 
skin-tight sleeves, festooned overskirt, scant, 
tightly-tied underskirt and a V-neck. Father 
and mother were overcome. 

“ ‘What’s happened, Lucretia ? ' father 
asked. 

“ ‘Nothing,’ my aunt answered, ‘I 
thought Grace would want me appropriately 
dressed for Miss Hanford’s tea.’ 

“I hated to burn that photograph. She 
never let one of us know of its existence, and 
it was so pretty. I was awfully frightened 
one morning, when she announced her inten- 
tion of visiting in Dayton for a week. 

“ ‘Why, whom do you know there ?’ 
mother asked. 

“ ‘Some old friends by the name of 
Belief ontaine,’ my aunt replied. 

“ Of course, there was no such family in 
Dayton and I knew something quick and 
effective must be done. I wrote to her 
immediately, telling her, ‘I, Gustavus, was 
about to go to China for a tea firm, and that 
I must confess to her that I had only given 
her my Christian names. My surname I had 


A girl’s confessional. 


31 


not revealed for reasons I would explain to 
her on my return.’ Then I stopped writing. 
That was five years ago, and to this day my 
aunt is watching the mails and reading every 
item of news about China tea firms. O ! it 
is so pitiful and yet I think it would be more 
unkind to tell her.’ , 

As Grace was leaving the chair Dora 
sprang from the hammock. “Girls,” she 
said, “I have thought of one thing, it is this 
ring,” pointing to a handsome solitaire spark- 
ling on her finger. “I bought it myself.” 

Julia’s sweet face had upon it the saint- 
like look of one who has confessed and been 
forgiven. She was no longer uncertain of 
her place with the girls. When Dora spoke, 
she started toward her with a frightened, 
questioning look, but she did not speak. 
She turned and took her seat and soon there 
shone upon her face not only peace, but hope 
and happiness. Julia had been led to believe 
that the one man of all the world to her, had 
put that ring on Dora’s finger. 

“Girls,” said Grace, pointing to the 
clock, “if it’s not too late, I wish you all a 


32 


A girl’s confessional. 


happy New Year. And Pauline, may we 
eat ? I am starving.” 

As they took their seats at the table 
Grace asked : “Girls, whose theories have 
we established ?” 

“Mine !” Mary answered promptly. 

“Mine !” said Pauline decidedly. 

‘Nobody’s,’ exclaimed Dora and Grace, 
and Julia did not dispute her. 




*The Women of Putney. 





teHE committee on club ex- 
tension from a city federa- 
tion of women's clubs was 
holding its annual meeting 


with Mrs.,, Granger, the chairman. The 
reports showed that every nook and corner 
of that particular city had been canvassed, 
and wherever six willing women had been 
found, there had a club been formed and 
federated. 

“ I feel, ” said Mrs. Granger, “ that our 
work here is done. I am ready to start 
to-morrow for the rural districts ; my heart 
aches with sympathy for the over-worked, 
untaught women of the small towns, women 
who haven’t a thought beyond a pickle ; just 
think how narrow and unsatisfactory their 

♦The Householr. 33 


34 


THE WOMEN OF PUTNEY. 


lives must be, and what club organization and 
club work will bring to them. Why, it will 
open a new world to them. 

“ I will take Putney first, I went there 
once with Mr. Granger, he had business 
there. We put up at a small inn. They 
called it a tavern. We had a boiled dinner.” 

“ A what ? ” the ladies asked, in chorus. 

“A boiled dinner,” Mrs. Granger re- 
peated; “all sorts of vegetables and meat 
piled on a big platter. I am bound to say it 
was good. I have seriously thought of 
introducing boiled luncheons, they would be 
vastly better than Dutch luncheons, with 
their sausage, sauerkraut, and beer ; but that 
is not to the point. I’ll take Putney, and I 
will go Monday. I have never been able to 
get the women of Putney out of my mind. 

“ I walked over the town and I did not 
meet a single woman. When I spoke of it 
to the landlady, she said : 

“ * The women of Putney had something 
else to do beside gallivanting the streets. ’ 
She said I * might have met Caroline Hent- 
man ; she wasn’t sound, and she was allowed 
to go traipsing up and down the town look- 


THE WOMEN OF PUTNEY. 


35 


in g for something that she imagined she had 
lost, though nobody could ever find out what 
it was, for the land knew she had never had 
anything to lose. ’ 

“ I have lain awake nights thinking of 
the women of Putney and poor Caroline 
Hentman looking for something she had 
never had. I should think they would all go 
crazy looking for something. I tell you I 
shall be glad to wake them up ; to give them 
something they have never known, and to 
restore to them the lost rights of their 
womanhood. ” 

The other members of the committee 
were deeply affected by this picture of the 
women of Putney. They resolved to wait 
for Mrs. Granger’s report that they might 
learn the best way to reach other women in 
other equally benighted towns. 

Early on Monday morning, Mrs. 
Granger started. ‘‘Just think, ” she said to 
her husband, “ just think of women who 
have darned stockings, sewed on buttons, 
and cooked boiled dinners all their lives, 
awaking to the fact that there are pictures 
and poetry all about them, and that there 


36 


THE WOMEN OF PUTNEY. 


have been heroes beside George Washington. 

“ I tell you no greater blessing than 
women’s clubs has fallen upon us in the last 
fifty years ! Not even the emancipation of 
the negroes ; what is that compared with the 
emancipation of women ? It is fine to be 
the bearer of such glad tidings ! ” 

“ Emancipation ! ” Mr. Granger repeated, 
as he watched her driving away. “She did 
exactly as she pleased with a doting father 
and she has managed entirely an adoring hus- 
band. Dear me ! this is worse than whist, 
physical culture, or golf. If the rural dis- 
tricts take kindly to clubs, I may as well 
resign myself to a bachelor’s existence. ” 

Upon reaching Putney, Mrs. Granger 
told the landlady her mission and asked who 
would likely be interested. “ Well, I can’t 
say, ” she replied ; “ none of us are suffering 
for work, and we are not so dreadfully behind 
the times either. 

‘‘Caroline Hentman has gone stark mad ; 
they took her to an asylum. I think your 
plans would have helped her ; she needed 
something. 

“You just go right along the street and 


THE WOMEN OP PUTNEY. 


37 


call at all the houses ; the women will be at 
home. 

“In the very last house Elviry Scott 
lives. She is real close, I must admit, but 
she has plenty of time and plenty of money. ” 

“ Will you join a club?” Mrs. Granger 
asked. 

“ Oh, I don’t know ; I might and then 
again I mightn’t. I couldn’t if it met even- 
ings. Every evening father and I and the 
girls and the boarders go into the front room, 
and Mandy, our girl that teaches school, 
reads to us. She is reading * Little Women * 
now and I am that interested in them girls 
I can’t hardly wait to get the supper dishes 
done.” 

“ Why, that is a club, ” Mrs. Granger 
said : “ Now, if you will invite others to join, 
and will organize and adopt a constitution 
and elect officers, you will be ready to feder- 
ate, and then you will belong to a great com- 
pany of women, all trying to grow wiser and 
broader, and more helpful through this work.” 

“ I never did set any great store by 
great crowds,” the landlady answered, “and 
I can’t see what good all that fuss would do. 


38 


THE WOMEN OF PUTNEY. 


To be sure, we might ask the neighbors ; but 
if we should father would stay away. He is 
too tired to dress up, aud he is too bashful if 
he was dressed, and we all set a heap by father. 

“You just go right along the street. 
Some of them are ‘ Piscopals, and you know 
they like to make a great to-do about things. 
I shouldn’t wonder if they’d take up with 
your notions. ” 

There was but one street in Putney ; in 
its center were the churches, the school- 
house, and the shops ; on either side for a 
long way, further than Mrs. Granger’s eyes 
could follow, were Putney homes. 

There were no marks of wealth and none 
of poverty. In the winter the street had 
looked dismal to Mrs. Granger ; now its 
green maples shading the narrow sidewalks 
and broad driveway, its pretty yards and neat, 
comfortable houses made it attractive. 

At the first house, Mrs. Granger noticed 
a woman picking mignonette from a luxuri- 
ant bed near the fence. “ Good morning, ” 
she said pleasantly. The woman answered 
cordially, and, throwing the gate wide open, 
invited her to come in. 


THE WOMEN OF PUTNEY. 


39 


“ I wonder if you can tell me about this 
flower, ” she said pointing to a small pink 
blossom in the mignonette bed, “ it came 
with some seeds, and I cannot find it in the 
botany. ” Then there followed a description 
of kindred flowers, with botanical names 
new to Mrs. Granger. 

11 I know absolutely nothing about 
flowers, save their names, ” replied Mrs. 
Granger ; “ How thoroughly you have studied. 
Have you a botanical club ? ” 

“ Oh, no, ” the woman answered, “ I 
love flowers. Father and I have used the 
children’s botany, and learned all we know. 
Flowers mean so much to me ; they teach me 
everything, — patience, trust, and charity. I 
love them. ” 

Mrs. Granger spoke her admiration of 
this particular garden and the charming vil- 
lage, but though Mrs. Fisher looked at her 
enquiringly, she could not talk to her of the 
blessings of women's clubs. 

At the next house she noticed a neat old 
lady sitting in the shaded corner of a porch. 
She seemed idle, and Mrs. Granger thought 
she looked unhappy. 


40 


THE WOMEN OF PUTNEY. 


“ Good morning, ” she said, “ may I 
come in ? ” 

“Certainly,” the old lady answered, 
quickly. “ You must excuse me ; I am blind, 
and I do not recognize your voice. ” 

“I am a stranger,” Mrs. Granger 
answered. “ I would like to talk to you a 
little while if I may. ” 

“Certainly,” she said, “ I am proper glad 
to have you. Here I sit all day for all the 
world like the useless city women, with my 
hands in my lap, being waited upon. I have 
always prayed that I might not outlive my 
usefulness ; but I suppose for some sin of 
omission or commission I am doomed to a 
city woman’s life, the very life I have always 
thought the worst. I think it is the duty of 
the churches to send missionaries to these city 
women to preach against idleness ; but I don’t 
suppose it would do any good ; they are joined 
to their idols. 

“ Now, there is my grandniece, Olive 
Archer. She was a bright, capable, indus- 
trious girl. She was sent off to school and 
then she married a rich city man, and now 
she boards at a tavern and has a hired girl to 


THE WOMEN OF PUTNEY. 


41 


help her dress herself, as if any able-bodied 
woman couldn’t put on her own clothes, even 
if she does wear silk and velvet and furbe- 
lows before breakfast ! 

“ I have never laid eyes on her since she 
was married ; she writes her name Mrs. Rich- 
ardson St. John Groves. She spends some 
time writing her name.” 

“ Mrs. St. John Groves, of N — ? ” Mrs. 
Granger asked. 

“The very one,” the old lady answered. 

“ Why, I know her well, and she is one 
of the busiest women in the world ! She is 
chairman of the board of the District Nurses 
and for the Children’s Hospital. She is in- 
terested and active in the Out-door Charities. 
She is president of three women’s clubs, and 
the church — Why she simply runs our church; 
we couldn’t exist without her ! ” Then Mrs. 
Granger described all these beautiful chari- 
ties and interesting clubs and Mrs. Groves’ 
part in them. 

“ Well, I declare ! ” the old lady said. 

When does she see Richard and the baby ? ” 

Mrs. Granger explained, that “ she had 
a competent nurse ; that Mr. Groves took his 


42 


THE WOMEN OF PUTNEY. 


luncheons alone, but they dined together fre- 
quently away from home, and, of course, 
spent their evenings together.” 

“ Well,” the old lady said, “ I suppose 
that is better than sitting all the day idle, 
but I would like to know why the Lord sent 
that baby to her if he didn’t expect her to 
take care of it. 

“ I have ten children, and they are all 
respectable, well-to-do men and women. Fath- 
er and me lived together over fifty years. 
The first he said when he came into the 
house, if I did not stand in the doorway, was : 
* Where is mother ? ’ and I was always with, 
in earshot. Just before his last sickness, he 
said : ‘ Mother, we have raised ten children, 
no one of them has gone wrong, and it is all 
owing to you. You were always here to help 
them, to hear their troubles, and to keep 
them out of mischief ; it’s all owing to you.» 

“ Then when he was dying, all of a sud. 
den he opened his eyes. * Where is mother ? ’ 
he whispered. ‘ Right here, Samuel,’ I said. 
Then he laid his hand in mine, and a happy, 
contented look came into his face. I never 
had much money nor learning. I was never 


THE WOMEN OF PUTNEY. 


43 


president of anything ; but my husband, as 
long as he lived, had only to reach out his 
hand to touch me. It is comforting now that 
he is gone." 

“Are you lonely ? ” Mrs. Granger asked. 

“ Not often,” she answered, “they don't 
allow it. The girls come and read to me and 
tell me of their doings, and the neighbors 
drop in every day. I have no right to com- 
plain, but I do lead a perfectly useless life. ” 

“ Oh, no,” said Mrs. Granger, “You have 
done me a great service this morning, and 
I thank you.” There was a surprised ques- 
tioning look on the gentle face as Mrs. Gran- 
ger took her leave without mentioning her 
errand. 

Indeed, she felt her enthusiasm waning. 
An intense desire to go home came to her. 
She wondered if it could be a presentiment 
of evil ; if anything had happened to her 
husband or children. She could not leave 
the town till train time, and she had made no 
effort to accomplish her purpose. 

She remembered Elvira Scott ; even her 
own townspeople thought she needed reform- 
ing. “ Plenty of money, but close,” the 


44 


THE WOMEN OF PUTNEY. 


landlady had said. Mrs. Granger decided 
to go to her and leave the club work with 
her. 

She hurried down the long street to the 
last house. A tall, sickly looking woman 
about sixty years old, opened the door to her 
She noticed that the house, which was large 
with broad piazzas, needed painting, that 
Miss Scott’s dress was faded and mended, 
and everything bore evidence of strict econ- 
omy. She is sordid, she thought. She told 
her errand immediately. 

“ Clubs take us out of ourselves,” she 
said. “They make us feel that there is 
something grander, nobler, lovelier, than sim- 
ple self-gratification and the hoarding of 
worldly possessions.” 

“ Yes,” Miss Scott answered ; “ I can 
see how they would do good, but I don’t think 
I care to join one.” 

“ Why not ? ” Mrs. Granger asked ; “you 
could do so much for yourself. Don’t you 
think it is one’s duty, as well as one’s pleas- 
ure, to make the most of oneself? And 
then one could do so much for others. You 
have beautiful rooms for clubs to meet in. 


THE WOMEN OF PUTNEY. 


45 


Why, this would be an ideal club-house, and 
you would be sharing your good fortune 
while you live.” 

“ I think I shall sell the place. I can- 
not bear to see it going to rack and ruin as 
it surely is. ” 

“ Oh, don’t sell it ; fix it up and use it 
and let others enjoy it. ” 

Miss Scott was silent for a few minutes 
and then she said : “ I think I will tell you 
something that I have never told a living soul. 
Perhaps you will understand ; anyway, you 
will not be here to shame me. Do you 
know what the women of Putney did in ’61 ? ” 
“ No, what was it ? ” 

“ Well, when the call for troops came, 
every able-bodied man in Putney enlisted. 
It is not for me to say how much the women 
had to do with it. When the men went we 
just stepped into their places. 

“ I was only twenty. Mother and I took 
my father’s store. We bought and sold goods, 
collected and paid bills, and when he came 
home we did not owe a cent, and we had over 
a thousand dollars in the bank. Every one did 
not do as well as that, but no one failed. 


46 


THE WOMEN OF PUTNEY. 


“ When the men came home we just 
went back to the old way of living. Some 
of them never came home. Other men took 
their places. 

“ One of them, Elmer Silverton, did not 
come back. He was an orphan, and there 
was no one to worry about him. He and I 
had kept company for years, but he had 
never spoken. The night he went away, 
when he said good-by, he kissed me ; * you 
know what that means, Vira, * he said, but I 
jerked away from him. I didn’t want to be 
had without the asking even, and it may be 
I didn’t care anyway, so he never wrote to 
me ; but he did not write to anybody, so I 
didn’t worry. 

“When they came home without him 
then my heart ached ; I was afraid I had 
grieved him and made it hard for him. 

“They said ‘a few of them had been sent 
out to reconnoitre. They had been fired on 
by a company and had retreated. Elmer had 
fallen. When reinforcements came; they 
went back and routed the enemy, but they 
could not find Elmer, they supposed he had 
been buried.’ I determined then to find him. 


THE WOMEN OF PUTNEY. 


47 


“ I waited twenty years till I came into 
possession of my parents’ means, then I made 
believe that I was going west on a visit. I 
went south to Tennessee, where our men 
had been surprised and fired on. I wanted 
to find Elmer’s grave, I wanted to bring him 
home and give him a Christian burial. It 
was my longing. 

“I could not find his grave, but the 
night before I was to start for home, I went 
out to walk in the little town near the place 
where he was shot. I walked to the end of 
the town, and on a dirty back street, sitting 
in front of one of the poorest houses, I saw a 
man. I was startled when he called to a 
child, for I knew the voice. I went near and 
looked, and I knew the man. It was Elmer 
Silverton, poor and old and shabby. 

“ I went in and talked to him. He did 
not know me. He said ‘the men had left 
him wounded, and a man, a rebel, took him 
home, hid him, and took care of him, and 
the man had a pretty daughter, and she 
nursed him, he wasn’t promised to any- 
body at home, when he got well, and the 
war was about over, he married the pretty 


48 


THE WOMEN OF PUTNEY. 


girl. I was always plain. “ But, ” he said 
‘ the people there would not have anything 
to do with him, and they would uot have any- 
thing to do with his wife, because she had 
married him. ’ He said * she was kind and 
good, but she wasn’t thrifty. ’ 

“ I did not see her. Before I left the 
town I arranged with a lawyer to send Elmer 
Silverton a certain sum every month, making 
it plain that he was not to know from whom 
the money came. I have sent him half of my 
income ever since. Don’t you know some- 
body in the city that would buy this place ? ” 
“We have been wanting just such a 
place to send poor sick women and children 
to. A good woman gave us the money, 
enough to buy it, and I think this will suit 
us exactly. Then you can stay here and help 
care for these poor people. ” 

“I should like it above everything, ” 
Miss Scott answered ; “and I know our women 
will furnish everything necessary. There is 
nothing the women of Putney can’t do. But 
what about those clubs ? ” 

“I don’t think the women of Putney 
need clubs, ” Mrs. Granger answered. “ I 


THE WOMEN OF PUTNEY. 


49 


am sure Miss Scott does not, and I hope she 
will forget my talk.” 

Mrs. Granger did not wait for Miss 
Scott’s reply ; she had just time to catch her 
train. 

When she reached home, Mr. Granger 
was at the station to meet her. 

“ Did you miss me, Tom ? ” she asked. 

“ Why, of course, ” he answered. 

“ Do you always think of me first when 
you come home, and would you like it if I 
were always there ? Do you think I am a 
good mother ? and if you were going to die 
would you want me first of all, and would you 
expect me to be near you when you needed 
me most ? ” 

“ Why, yes, ” he replied, smiling, “ un- 
less some very important club was holding a 
very important meeting.” 

“Don’t joke, Tom. I am going to 
begin all over I am coming home to you. ” 

Mr. Granger drew her close to him. 
“Dearest,” he aaid, “ it has been lonesome, 
and I am tired of the club men, with their 
loud stories and old jokes. But won’t you miss 
it all awfully ? I don’t want to be mean.” 


50 


THE WOMEN OF PUTNEY. 


“ I shall find time enough in the morn- 
ings when you and the children are away. I 
have not meant to be neglectful. I have 
been mistaken, that is all. I hope I shall 
really have to give up a great deal. I want to. 
I have always been selfish. ” 

“ Couldn’t we do some of that studying 
together, you and I ? ” Mr. Granger asked. 
“ I guess I can find some things to gi\re up, 
too. ” 

When the summer home at Putney was 
established, Mr. and Mrs. Granger furnished 
and equipped an attractive, homelike reading 
room. They called it a thank offering to 
the women of Putney. 


! 


THOMAS WARREN 


“Cupid vs. Theory.” 




H come off ! I know I am weak 
k and sinful but I am not a 
I fool!” 


“ I didn’t expect you to 
believe me at once ; but I tell 
you every word I have said is 


absolutely true. It is not enough to estab- 
lish my theory, but it is enough to make men 
think. ” 

“ Why don’t you try it on McKinley ? 
Make him a Free Silverite and a Free Trader ! 
You believe in that sort of stuff ! ” 

“ I don’t claim to influence men who are 
stronger than I am. ” 

" Oh well, perhaps infants and idiots do 
come under your claims, but I can’t see that 
great responsibility results from that. ” 

“ It goes beyond infants and idiots. 


52 


THOMAS WARREN. 


Yet the fact that infants are susceptible 
should fix the responsibility. Take women. ” 

“ Oh, bother women ! Poor things ! 
They like to be gulled. They have nothing 
else to do. Why, if the money spent by 
women for fake mediums, mind readers, etc. 
could be appropriated to Foreign Missions, 
say, they would all be out of debt and have 
money enough left to convert the world ! 
Why not turn your surplus energies in that 
direction ? ” 

“ Don’t abuse the women. They are 
not so easily fooled, and they are not, by a 
long shot, the supporters of the fakes. But 
we are not talking about professionals or 
anything of the sort, we are talking about 
everyday occurrences. Why look here, a 
good man in a town near here, made three 
boy clerks steal ! He rented his store room 
of me, and a woman, a seamstress, rented a 
house of me. I got the man to hire her boy 
for a clerk, a fine, honest, clean looking fel- 
low about fifteen years old. In a few weeks 
she told me the sad story of the boys dis- 
honesty. He had stolen money, something 
less than a dollar. The boy owned it. By 


THOMAS WARREN. 


53 


close questioning I found he had felt like do- 
ing it for days and finally could no longer 
resist. He didn’t need it, he had money of 
his own to use as he pleased. I went to see 
the man. He said, * all boys were by nature 
liars and thieves. He had expected this boy 
from the first to steal and finally he had set a 
trap and caught him. ’ ‘ Well, ’ I said, ‘ you 

first gave him the thought, you persisted in 
keeping it in his mind and then you fixed a 
most convenient way for it to be carried out 
and you alone are responsible for the boy’s 
downfall. ’ The boy was so overwhelmed by 
his mothea’s sorrow and his own shame that 
he was about to kill himself. I took him 
away and started him in a new place with a 
man who believes that boys may be decent 
by nature and he is his most trusted clerk. ” 
“Oh, of course, he was caught, he had a 
salutary lesson and it was a warning to him. ” 
“ No, he was not bad, he was simply the 
victim of the persistent thought of a suspic- 
ious man. After trying two other boys with 
the same result he put his wife in as clerk 
and he told me he paid her a small salary so 
she wouldn’t be tempted to take pin money. 


54 


THOMAS WARREN. 


If he had not fortified himself in this way he 
would have made a thief of his wife. I tell 
you if it can be established beyond a ques- 
tion that young people are thus influenced by 
thought messages, and a system of recogni- 
tion and resistance formed and taught, I 
believe that much wrong doing may be 
stopped and many young men and young 
women kept upright who otherwise must fall. 
Now, take yourself, and you are a man of 
more than ordinary strength ; did you never, 
say on a street car, have suddenly, without 
any connection, a thought, perhaps a desire, 
come into your mind that you would not 
for worlds have spoken and which you prob- 
ably immediately put aside ? Now, this 
thought given you may have been intentional 
or it may not. If intentional it was made 
alluring and so a temptation, and a weaker 
man, unsuspecting and unarmed, would have 
yielded. There is no new thought here. 
Men have hinted it and plainly spoken it 
since the time of Plato and before, but I 
want it brought home to people who do not 
read Plato. I want it taught in the public 
schools, in the Sunday schools, and at home 


THOMAS WARREN. 


55 


just as soon and as persistently as we teach 
truth and honesty. ” 

“ Well, I don’t believe in shirking 
responsibility. If I get drunk or lie, I am 
not going to blame my father or some ances- 
tor far removed. The other day, the twenty 
second, I was invited to speak before a 
school. When the board member introduced 
me, he said, “ If you ask who brought this 
illustrious gentleman here, I say I done it ; 
and children if you ever do anything you are 
ashamed of, come right up like the father of 
your country and say I can’t tell a lie, I done 
it. ” In the language of that eloquent gentle- 
man I say ‘ them’s my sentiments. ’ ” 

“ But I suppose you would be glad to 
make the necessity of saying I done it, come 
as seldom as possible. ” 

“ Oh, yes, but you see I don’t believe in 
the possibility of transferring impressions, 
without speech, even by effort, certainly not 
sufficiently strong to do harm. ” 

“ Very well, I’ll prove it. You show me 
a conscientious girl, say one who is engaged 
and for love only. Without speaking to her 
I will in a longer or shorter time, make her 


5 6 ‘THOMAS WARREN. 

so question her love for the man that she 
will feel obliged to break the engagemnnt. 
You must know them well and be in their 
confidence so as to tell me at this point, and 
I will not only withdraw the impression of 
not caring for him, but I will give another of 
such devotion as she has never known, then 
no harm will be done you see. Gentle and 
refined girls sometimes love and marry brutes 
of men, influenced wholly by the persistent 
thought given them by the men or their fami- 
lies ; sometimes there is a terrible awaken- 
ing. Choose a well mated couple for the 
test and keep me posted. ” 

“ All right. Let’s see, you are going 
Sunday night. Come to church with me 
tomorrow and I will show you the girl. I’ll 
keep you posted ; but if a girl of mine could 
be influenced in that way I should say good 
riddance. I tell you all these ‘ startling 
facts ’ are merely coincidences ! One girl 
longs for her ‘ bosom friend, ’ the * bosom 
friend ’ longs for her and of course one visits 
the other. Whereupon they both exclaim, 
‘You were expecting me!’ ‘You got my 
message ! ’ ‘I called you ! How Heavenly ! ’ 


Thomas warren. 


57 


Good Lord such rot ! Why if I had a wife 
and she went into such things, Christian Sci- 
ence, for example, I should consider it suffic- 
ient cause for a divorce. ” 

John Stimson and Thomas Warren had 
been chums in College, had taken their 
degrees ten years before this conversation. 
John Stimson had studied law and was just 
coming into a lucrative practice. Thomas 
Warren had inherited a fortune. He had 
spent his time in the study of all sorts of 
Psychic phenomena and had finally taken as 
his special work the establishing of a theory 
of thought transferrence and its dangers as 
intimated in the foregoing conversation. 

The next morning the two men went to 
church together and sat a few seats behind a 
handsome, well dressed girl. . “There’s the 
girl, ” John whispered. Thomas fixed his 
thoughts upon her for a few moments. When 
she turned, a pleasant look of recognition 
came into her face on seeing John Stimson, 
then she looked beyond him for an instant 
into the face of his friend, but there was no 
introduction after the service. At night 
Thomas Warren left for his home and John 


58 


THOMAS WARREN. 


Stimson straightway forgot that he had 
offered a beautiful girl as a piece of labora- 
tory apparatus. 

Usually a Pullman car offered fine 
opportunities for testing his theories ; but 
tonight Mr. Warren made no efforts. There 
was a bridal party aboard too, he always liked 
to make brides jealous and penitent, and to 
watch the behavior of the various grooms. 
Now, he lay back in the seat ; pulled his hat 
over his eyes and thought over the day. He 
hated to hear men ridicule serious things as 
John Stimson had, it was no longer consid- 
ered a mark of wisdom. He laughed at the 
old coincident explanation and enjoyed his 
promised triumph when he had proved his 
assertions. This made him think of the girl. 
It did not take him long to make her look 
around in church. What a fine face she had. 
He would begin by impressing his own per- 
sonality upon her and begin now. Some- 
times when he had made a great effort he 
had been conscious of an answering thought. 
He would try now. 

Marion Holcombe had expected her 
lover on that Sunday night, but when nine 


THOMAS WARREN. 


59 


o’clock came and he was not there she went 
to her room. She was sorry she had not 
gone out with the family and a little provoked 
that she should be neglected. She made her- 
self comfortable in a luxuriously cushioned 
hammock under a bright but softly shaded 
lamp, intending to read. It was Lent, and 
she never read stories in Lent. When she 
was in college the handsomest and most 
agreeable Professor taught Metaphysics, she, 
naturally, took great interest in the study, 
and when she graduated, he had given her a 
list of books to read. She had just finished 
Couisin’s “ The True, The Beautiful and The 
Good. ” She had gone beyond philosophy 
and had studied the claims of modern psychic 
teachers. Her mother was interested with 
her. They had taken a course of Christian 
Science lectures ; were frequent visitors at 
the Theosophical circles and to many mind 
readers’ and clairvoyants’ rooms. This they 
kept secret, neither her father nor her lover 
knew of these visits. The Manual of Epic- 
tetus lay upon her table. She owed a great 
deal to his teachings. Her home was luxuri- 
ous and her parents were indulgent, yet she 


6o 


THOMAS WARREN. 


had her share of failures and disappointments 
and Epictetus had taught her when it was 
worth while to worry and when it was not. 
She picked up the book and opened to the 
first familiar sentence : “ Some things are 

in power and others are not. ” In some 
unaccountable way this brought to mind the 
handsome stranger she had seen in church, 
and she had a great mind to send him a 
thought message. Of course it was not 
exactly proper, but then in these messages 
no one could be certain of the source. She 
put out the light and fixed her entire atten- 
tention upon the stranger, sending him a cer- 
tain consciousness of her interest. 

When Thomas Warren reached his 
office on Monday afternoon he found his 
desk piled high with letters. They were 
from “ all sorts and conditions of men, ” 
mainly women. There were letters from 
prison, reform school and asylum officials 
full of interesting statistics, but by far the 
greater number was from parents, wives and 
sweethearts with pathetic stories of disobedi- 
ence or waning affection and asking impossi- 
ble assistance. He put aside a few to be 


THOMAS WARREN. 


6l 


answered and threw the others into the waste 
basket. A small envelope met his eye. It 
held an invitation to dinner from his sister- 
in-law. “ Leave your isms at home ” she 
wrote “for the people are clever but they 
are not in sympathy with your particular 
hobby. ” He drew a sheet of paper toward 
him. “ I will plead a previous engagement. ” 
He began writing, when a sharp, business 
like rap called him to the door, and upon open- 
ing it, met the troubled eyes of a superior- 
looking woman. 

“ Mr. Warren ? ” she asked. “ I am 
here to give you indisputable proof of your 
theory and to offer you assistance. ” 

“ I am glad to see you, ” he answered. 
“ Please sit down. ” 

“ No, ” she replied, “ Thank you, I shall 
not detain you long. ” She fixed her eyes 
upon the floor and talked rapidly. “ I had 
never heard of thought messages until I 
read your articles in the magazines. I was 
poor, wholly dependent upon the charity of a 
woman who at her best was ugly and exas- 
perating. Through the inordinate use of 
morphine she had become practically imbe- 


62 


THOMAS WARREN. 


cile. She could scarely hear or see, she 
could not taste. Her mind was gone. Of 
course the care of her was constant and ex- 
tremely disagreeable. An old servant 
woman, Nelson by name, cared for her. She 
was so faithful, tender, and almost loving ; it 
seemed. Your articles with their clear 
descriptions and satisfactory proofs made 
me think that Nelson who was weak and 
simple might be controlled in that way. I 
had been told that keeping morphine away 
from one who had long taken it would 
cause certain death. I determined to in- 
fluence Nelson to substitute a harmless 
powder for the morphine. I sent the mes- 
sage day and night. I scarely slept. In 
about ten days a telegram came announc- 
ing the old lady’s death. When I reached 
there, old Nelson came out to meet me. 

1 Oh, ’ she said ‘ how can I bear it ! * I knew 
she was about to confess I interrupted her. I 
never gave her a chance to speak and I tried 
persistently to fill her mind with thoughts of 
her faithfulness only. I have made Nelson 
comfortable for life, but the thought of her 
distress worries me, I would like to help 


THOMAS WARREN. 63 

you even to the half of my income, as a sort 
of penance, you see. ” 

“Did you say my articles influenced 
you to attempt this ? ” 

“Yes, ” she said; 

“ And they were written solely to pre- 
vent just such wrong. Had this old lady a 
physician ? ” 

“ Oh, yes. ” 

“ Did he say anything about the taking 
away of morphine ?” 

“ Oh no, he did not know it. ” 

“ I think, ” he said, “ you may be sure 
that it was not taken from her and that your 
efforts and her death at that time were 
merely coincident, not in any way connected. 
However, this does not relieve you or me of 
responsibility. I thank you for your offered 
assistance, if I need you I will call upon 
you. ” 

He bowed her out of the room, and then 
he called a messenger to take his acceptance 
of the dinner invitation, anything rather than 
an evening alone, he thought. 

He was late at the dinner party, and his 
sister-in-law took him immediately to a de- 


6 4 


THOMAS WARREN. 


mure looking girl, introduced him, and said 
“ Please come with Miss Norris to the dining 
room. ” 

‘‘A school girl, what a bore!” he 
thought. “ With the greatest pleasure, ” 
he answered. While they were finding their 
places at the table he told her that the day 
was beautiful, the company charming and he 
the most fortunate of men. While she 
pinned the flowers on her dress, he looked at 
her closely ; “ pretty, ” he thought, “ beauti- 
ful throat and shoulders, clever Nan said if I 
‘ can start her on her specialty I shall need 
only to listen. ’ I will try music. ” Then 
addressing her, “ That was a fine tenor in the 
last opera. ” 

“ Yes, ” she answered. 

Not music evidently, try art. 

“ The loan exhibition promises a great 
treat, ” he said. 

“ Yes,” she replied. 

Not art, try whist ; of course all the 
women are wild over whist. “ I believe you 
ladies are adopting the short suit leads,” he 
remarked. » 

" Yes,” she answered. 


THOMAS WARREN. 


65 


U I am sure,” he said, “you enjoy the 
wheel and golf and all kinds of outdoor 
sports from your evident perfect health ! ” 

“ Oh, golf,” she exclaimed, “ I perfectly 
adore golf ! Don’t you ? 

“ Yes,” he replied. 

There was a painful pause. His sister- 
in-law frowned upon him. They had only 
oysters and soup, and there were at least ten 
more courses. It was simply unbearable ! 
Oh there was the war, he might try that. 

“ Do you think we shall have war ? ” he 
asked. 

“ I don’t know,” she answered. 

Another pause and a more emphatic 
frown. 

“ We are awfully dull aren’t we ? ” she 
said. “ Let’s try the counting game ; but 
of course you must look at me occasionally 
and seem interested.” 

“ That will not be difficult,” he replied. 

“ Let’s take fives, they are easy.” Then 
in a low tone, “1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ” ? she said. 

“6, 7, 8, 9, 10,” he continued. 

She put into her figures every expres- 
sion possible in an animated conversation, 


66 


THOMAS WARREN. 


surprise, pleasure, sympathy, anxiety, all, and 
he, though not nearly so clever an actor, tried 
to imitate her. By the time the coffee came 
they were well up in the hundreds, he was 
attempting a very pathetic tone when their 
eyes met and they laughed aloud. 

“ Tell us the joke,” some one requested ; 
but they kept their secret. 

When the ladies were leaving the din- 
ing room, he said, “ I shall find you when I 
come in ! ” 

“ I shall be glad to be found,” she an- 
swered. 

Thomas Warren smoked but a few mo- 
ments, then threw away half of a good cigar 
and followed the ladies into the parlor. Miss 
Norris was the only girl in the party. The 
ladies in little groups were discussing maids 
and children and she sat apart looking at a 
book of engravings. 

“ Come into the library,” he said, “ I 
will show you something fine in there. I 
want to apologize for my stupidity,” he con- 
tinued. “ Something annoying had happened 
to me and scattered my wits.” 

“ I must apologize too,” she replied. 


THOMAS WARREN. 


67 


“ The fact is, just before you came in a lady 
told me how learned you are ; that you wrote 
for magazines on some supernatural subject 
and had no interest whatever in mundane 
things. She told me just what to say to 
start you and then she said you would talk 
for hours in the most interesting way. I was 
ransacking my brain for the question she 
gave me, but I had lost it entirely ; and I 
confess I was afraid of you but you counted 
so well. I an not the least afraid now. Would 
you mind telling me what this strange thing 
is that you believe ? ” 

Then he told her all his hopes and dis- 
appointments, to his final coincident explana- 
tion. He was not sure that she fully under- 
stood his theory but her appreciation of the 
nurse Nelson was evident. 

“ Of course she couldn’t do it,” she said, 
and her sympathy in his annoyance was gen- 
uine. “ You are not to blame,” she continued. 
“ The one thing that I brought away from 
school — Moral Science — is we are to be 
judged only by our motives.” 

“ I think,” he remarked, “ we are ac- 
countable for our ignorance. I was as blind 


68 


THOMAS WARREN. 


and stupid as that woman who saw every 
thing through her own fiendish purpose.” 

“ What a beautiful idea this thought 
transference is!” she said, “why a poor 
sick woman can lie quietly in her bed and 
send out beautiful, helpful thoughts. There 
need be no end. Who knows but poor Nel- 
son’s tender thoughts while she cared for 
that miserable woman came clear out to Ohio, 
to me, and made me gentler and less selfish. 
I think it is beautiful.” 

“ How quickly you see the beautiful 
side. I only saw the vicious, the hideous.” 

“ But you were trying to make it beau- 
tiful,” she replied. Then she told him of her 
own life. It was full of joy in everything. 
He pitied himself that he had for so many 
years turned his back on the good and the 
beautiful and sought everywhere for the 
wicked and the repulsive. 

Before he went home they had arranged 
to ride the next morning, to play golf in the 
afternoon, and to go to a concert in the eve- 
ning. Miss Norris was his sister-in-law’s 
guest and of course he owed her attention. 

About two months after this dinner 


THOMAS WARREN. 


69 


party, Thomas Warren was in his office un- 
willingly attending to a much neglected cor- 
respondence. The door opened suddenly 
and John Stimson came bustling in. 

“ How are you Tom old fellow, how is 
the transfer business ? Stock is way up, 
down our way, way up ! ” 

'• Transfer business ? ” Tom asked. 

“ Why, yes, thought transfer, you know. 
Aren’t you still at the head of the company ? ” 
“ I haven’t thought much about it lately. 
I have been otherwise engaged. I think I 
took a rather pessimistic view of things. 
This is a pretty fine world after all, old fel- 
low. ” 

“ At this particular moment, in my 
opinion, ‘ tis the very worst world that ever 
was known. ’ But to go back to the transfer 
business. I give in ! I am convinced ! I 
have tried it myself and worked it ! You 
see, Marion, the girl I showed you, the one 
I was engaged to, had been studying this 
thing for months and working it on me and 
I never knew it. The other day she told me 
about it. She made it as clear as daylight ; 
but I didn’t give in. I looked wise and 


70 


THOMAS WARREN. 


) 


‘laughed her to scorn. ’ But I saw there 
was something in it and I worked it on Judge 
Brown. I had a case on hand. I knew just 
two fine points that would fix the jury but 
the judge wouldn’t see them. Well, I tried 
your racket. I gave him the thought with a 
thousand pounds pressure ! I kept strictly 
to business. I scarely slept or ate. On the 
last afternoon when the other lawyer was 
making a long, prosy plea, I worked that 
telepathic machine for all its worth ! I won- 
der my mind didn’t go with it. When the 
Judge made his charge he brought out those 
two points finer than silk. I nearly fell off 
my chair. It did the business. I gained 
the suit and enough money to start house- 
keeping. I hurried home to clean up ; I was 
going to Marion to embrace her and all her 
creeds. I was going to ask her to Christian 
Science my rheumatism and to fix the happy 
day. When I got home there was a pack- 
age with the ring and all the trinkets and a 
note saying she was sure we could not be 
happy together etc. Then I remembered 
that confounded proof business, and I grabbed 
my grip and took the night train and here I 


THOMAS WARREN. 


7 * 


am ! Now get to work, instanter ! Relieve 
her mind of the doubts and send her an 
overwhelming appreciation of my fine quali- 
ties. Make her dead in love with me. Send 
her a regular Johnstowu flood ! Then I’ll 
take the night train home to reap my reward 
and arrange for the wedding. Go at it quick ! 
I will be quiet. ” 

“ But John I didn’t do it. I haven’t 
thought of the girl since that night in the 
cars, and then, not in that way. ” 

“ Well, who in thunder has been mak- 
ing mischief ? If I can find him I’ll shoot 
him ! ” 

“ Commit suicide then for you are the 
man. Those things meant a great deal to 
her. It’s a sort of religion, and you ridiculed 
it in your diabolical way. Go home and con- 
fess and take the rheumatism cure and I bet 
you 1 6 to i it will be all right ” 

“ What a confounded fool I am ! It has 
cost me just fifty dollars and twenty nine 
cents to find it out. I’ll do it, I’ll take the 
first train ! I tell you she is fine ! She is 
way up in your theories, way, way up, almost 
to high for me to see ; but I am getting 


72 


THOMAS WARREN. 


there. Good bye, old fellow, I must hurry. 
Use that judge story if you want to, only 
keep the names dark. Good bye ; there 
comes a car ! Shall want you for best man ! 
Good bye ! ” 

“Good bye and good luck,” Thomas 
called after him, and then he laughed aloud. 

“ That small boy, ” he said, “ with his 
wings, and his bow and arrows, is after all 
the most potent of reformers. ” 


see* 


/ 


*Zilpah Treats Confession. 



N the year of our Lord 1 800, 
in the early morning twi- 
light of the 1st day of 
May, a strange scene was 
passing in a quiet village 
in New England. In an open square in the 
centre of this village was its church. About 
the church stood many pairs of oxen hitched 
to freshly painted wagons, covered high with 
canvas. These wagons were filled with 
household goods, leaving space only for the 
families to sit. 

Within the church the entire commun- 
ity had assembled ; there had been words of 
admonition from the pastor, hymns of praise 
and prayers for blessings from the congrega- 
tion. As they were about leaving the church 
an aged woman, known in the village as Aunt 



♦Catholic World. 


73 


74 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


Axy Treat, arose to speak to them. She was 
a woman of unusual learning, and her opin- 
ion was sought on all important subjects ; 
yet for her to “ speak in meeting ” was an 
unheard-of-thing, and the whole assembly, 
amazed, stood and listened. 

“My friends,” she said, “you are going 
into a new country to seek your fortunes. I 
beg of you, let not the love of money drive 
from your hearts the love of God ! Be hon- 
est, not only to your neighbors, but to your 
own households. Give to them the best it is 
possible for you to give, and know that for 
them love and contentment are more to be 
desired than riches. Beware, beware of the 
greed of gain ! It destroys love, honor and 
friendship. It gains its mastery step by step, 
and so silently that before one is aware he is 
wholly subject. Once more, I say to you, 
beware ! ” 

Silently the company left the church, 
with tears and quiet leave-takings ; half the 
entire village filled the wagons, and before 
the sun had risen started on their long and 
perilous journey. They were not vagabonds 
and paupers ; they were God-fearing, law- 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


75 


abiding, prosperous householders, who, for 
the promise of the future, were willing to en- 
dure the hardships and dangers of a new 
country. 

Before autumn they reached Ohio, and 
there they founded a New England village ; 
the same in name and customs as the one 
they bravely yet sorrowfully left on the mem- 
orable May morning. For the new village 
they chose a beautiful valley ; on either side 
were tall hills, forest-covered ; at the foot of 
one a broad, swift stream flowed. Quickly 
trees were felled and cabins built. The 
streets were carefully laid out, a large centre 
square was reserved for churches. The trans- 
formation was so great and so speedy that in 
a few years this forest, teeming with wild 
beasts and venomous snakes, became a 
peaceful village, with its churches, its school- 
house, its mills and shops — a New England 
village with the old-time thrift and economy, 
fanaticism and bigotry. 

Prominent among those of its people 
vying to outstrip each other in riches was 
Abner Treat. He had remembered for a 
few months his mother’s impressive words, 


76 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


but he had not heeded them. One who, 
recognizing a temptation, yields, soon loses 
not only the power to resist, but the ability 
to recognize, and he soon without misgiving 
devoted all his energies to one great purpose, 
money-making. The importance of this was 
impressed upon his children. His only son, 
Samuel, by precept and example, was made 
the shrewdest and stingiest boy in the whole 
village. 

When fifty years had passed the village 
had greatly increased in size and dignity. 
Four neat churches adorned the centre 
square. There were two schools, public and 
private, for children ; two “ seminaries for 
young women, ” and a college for young men. 
There were mills and shops, and all the 
appurtenances of a prosperous town. All 
rivalry in society, politics and religion was 
confined to the two leading denominations, 
Presbyterian and Baptist. Their social lines 
were fixed like the caste lines of India. 
There was no commingling, socially or 
religiously. 

Abner Treat’s son Samuel was the 
richest man in the village. Like his father, 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


77 


he was a Presbyterian. Promptly every 
year he paid his five dollars towards the min- 
ister’s salary of three hundred. Every year 
he gave twenty-five cents for foreign mis- 
sions. He faithfully attended all the ser- 
vices of the church — three sermons on Sun- 
day, and the Wednesday evening prayer- 
meeting. Usually he spoke in the prayer- 
meeting, exhorting sinners to “ flee from the 
wrath to come. ” Sometimes he exhorted 
privately, and in every way he was considered 
an exemplary Christian. Twenty years 
before he had taken to wife one of the fair- 
est, gentlest girls of the village. God had 
given them two children, a son and a daugh- 
ter. Samuel Treat, wholly mastered by one 
great passion, “the greed of gain, ” was sac- 
rificing for it love, friendship, and all that 
makes life most desirable. 

One pleasant morning in September of 
the year 1850, Zilpah, his daughter, came to 
him in their plain, uncomfortable sitting- 
room. “ Father, ” she said, “ I would like 
to go to the fair ; may I ? ” 

Samuel Treat looked up, his eyes 
rested on the fair face of his daughter. He 


78 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


had never noticed before how pretty she was, 
and a feeling of pride in her possession seized 
him. “Yes, ” he said, and as he slowly 
counted two dimes and five pennies from his 
purse he added, with a smile meant to be 
mischievous, “ there is twenty-five cents ; 
bring back the change. ” 

“ But, father, it takes twenty-five cents 
to get in, and I need a dress, and I want a 
hat. ” 

Quickly the smile and pleased look left 
his face, and one of annoyance and irritation 
covered it. “ Do you think money grows on 
trees ? ” he asked. “ What’s good enough 
for your mother is good enough for you, and 
young girls should not be vain ; that is all you 
can have, and more than ought to be spent 
in nonsense. ” 

Silently Zilpah turned and left her father. 
“ Good enough for mother ! ” she thought. 
“ Mother has pieced and darned the black 
silk dress she had when she was married till 
there isn’t a whole breadth left in it ; and I and 
Julius have grown up with no decent clothes, 
no books, nothing ; and he, our father, the 
richest man in the village ! Every day he 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


79 


asks God to bless his family. He begrudges 
us our food, and indeed it is poor and scanty 
enough ; but if I do not use this money for 
the fair, I must give it back. I will go. ” 

The intervening days were spent in 
mending, washing, ironing the best of her 
scant wardrobe. Her white sun-bonnet’s 
ruffles were carefully crimped, and her pure 
delicate face was beautiful in it so encircled. 
She had clear, ivory-colored skin, with pink 
in the cheeks and cherry in the lips ; large, 
brown eyes with long, black lashes. Eyes 
that wore an appealing look, as if they con- 
stantly prayed for something always denied 
them. Her hair was black and it grew low 
on her broad forehead. Her figure was 
slight but rounded, she was eighteen years old. 

She borrowed a neighbor’s saddle, and 
taking an old horse that could not be used in 
harvesting, she rode to the fair. Her way 
was through bits of woods, by little brooks, 
past well-tended farms, and finally through 
the streets of a large town. Just beyond this 
town were the fair grounds. 

Usually the beautiful things, from the 
tiniest flowers at her feet to the bright sing- 


8o 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


ing birds in the tree-tops brought joy to Zil- 
pah. But to-day she rode by them all 
unheeding, for her heart was filled with bit- 
terness and anger towards her father. 

At the last moment he had refused the 
twenty-five cents to Julius her brother, one 
year younger than she, who had worked for 
him hard and faithfully the whole summer 
without pay. At first she wondered how 
things could possiby be bettered. Then she 
wished some great overwhelming thing would 
happen, such as a mighty tornado or earth- 
quake, and change the whole face of , the 
world, and so its people. Finally the 
thought came to her : “ If he should die — 

if her father should die — she would miss 
nothing, and how much she would gain ! 
Mother could then rest ; she could have nice 
comfortable gowns, and make pleasant little 
journeys; Julius could go to the college, and 
she to the seminary. How infinitely better 
everything would be ! Oh, if it could only, 
only happen ! But she could not do that — 
No ! But God might. She would ask him. 
He must see it is best so. ” And she 
prayed with all the fervor of her young 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


8i 


soul that God would let her father die. 

After she had thought this possible, her 
whole ride was filled with ecstatic visions of 
what could be done when the prayer was 
answered. The farm buildings needed no 
repairing ; the barns were much better than 
the house, and always in good repair. She 
would build a kitchen, she would have a girl — 
she selected the girl ; she would make the 
house so pretty with bright curtains and com- 
fortable chairs, and a piano — of course she 
must have a piano. Then mother should 
have soft woolen dresses, and stiff rustling 
silks, with fleecy laces for her neck and her 
caps ; and Julius — she could already see him 
President of the United Srates, he was so 
talented and so industrious ; and she — how 
she revelled in her dainty, white-trimmed 
bed-room, in her soft chintz gowns and broad- 
brimmed hats, and school, music lessons, and 
books ! 

When she went into the fair the effect 
of this picture made her face shine, and her 
friends asked her what had happened. Then 
for the first time, she realized what had 
happened : she had buried her father and 


82 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


rejoiced over it for hours ! Her prayer was 
so earnest and her vision so real that she 
could not stay away ; she must go home and 
see. So, after a quick glance at flowers, 
fruit, vegetables, and bed-quilts, she started, 
leaving the horseracing, which, with its 
spice of wickedness, was usually the fair’s 
chief attraction. How she hurried ! — she 
fairly panted. When she reached the house 
she was astonished that there was no un- 
usual stir. 

As she rode up to the door the first per- 
son she saw was her father, and she listened 
to his fretful fault-finding. He was examin- 
ing apple-parings, and scolding because they 
were not so thin as he was sure he could 
pare them. At the first glance she was 
thankful her prayer had not been heeded. 
When she came nearer and saw and heard 
him distinctly, the meanness, the agony of it 
all came back to her, and with all her soul 
she cried : “ Oh, God, let my father die ! ” 

Day by day, week by week, she carefully 
scanned her father’s face — there was no 
change ; there was the same active, restless 
life. He was a tall, spare man, but straight 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 83 

and robust. With the same exasperating 
care he watched the pennies, and there 
appeared no thought for the well-being of 
any one. More and more plainly Zilpah saw 
her father’s faults. More and more emphati- 
cally she rebelled against them. In her 
heart only — there was no change in her 
behavior. There had never been any caress- 
ings or confidences between father and child 
in Samuel Treat’s household ; always dumb, 
forced obedience, respectful silence ; but no 
confessions of wrong-doing, and no promises 
of future goodness. Zilpah hated it all — 
the ugly home, the straightened life, her 
mother’s submissions, and Julius’ unpaid toil. 
If it had been necessary, had there been pov- 
erty, and so need of self-denial and work, no 
one would have more cheerfully done her 
part ; but there was no need ; it was all the 
tyranny of a man whose God was Mammon. 

“ Why should he be allowed to do it ? ” 
she thought. “ Why should not God inter- 
fere, and now, before it is forever to late ? ” 
And the prayer always in her heart, that God 
would let him die, grew ever more earnest 
and urgent. 


8 4 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


One morning, late in November, Zilpah 
stood by a window in the living-room, and 
watched the unloading of the freshly cut 
wood. It was one of her father’s exasper- 
ating plans of economy that their wood should 
be green ; “ it lasted so much longer.” A 
little dry was provided to be sparingly used 
for kindling. Zilpah wondered if, after all, 
she must give up all her desires for improve- 
ment, and make her home with one of the 
wood-cutters who had lately asked her to. 
Her father liked him. “ He was thrifty,” 
he said. Zilpah knew that meant stingy. 
She would not bear that “ meekly ” like her 
mother. 

The wagon was emptied and the men 
went back; Still she stood at the window. 
“ Would it be best after all ? ” she thought ; 
•* but what if her prayer is answered ? If 
her father died, then she would send this 
man away instantly ; then she would study 
and make the best of herself ; and marry per- 
haps, after a long time, some college man 
learned in all the things she longed to know 
about, and generous, and fond of luxurious 
living.” 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


85 


She glanced out of the window. Slowly 
and carefully the wagon was coming back, 
and it seemed to be empty. She looked 
again and saw Julius sitting in it ; her heart 
stood still. “ Can anything have happened 
to Julius ? ” She hurried to the door ; there 
she met her mother. A man came running 
to them ; his story was quickly told. 

“ Mr. Treat was felling trees with them ; 
they saw one was about to fall ; they called 
to him, but he did not hear, evidently he did 
not see it ; and it fell, striking him on the 
breast. Julius was holding him in the wagon. 
They could not tell how seriously he was 
injured ; one had already gone for a physi- 
cian. ” Then all was bustle and confusion ; 
a bed was brought down to the sitting-room, 
a fire kindled, and all the possible require- 
ments of a physician made ready, and the 
dinner cooked for the men. 

Zilpah had no time to think. She over- 
heard the physicians telling her mother that 
** no bones were broken, but there were, they 
feared, serious internal injuries ; how serious 
could not be determined now. The house 
must be absolutely quiet, and the medicine 


86 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


regularly administered. ” Mrs. Treat chose 
to act as nurse ; Zilpah was left with the 
cooking and house-work, and the day was far 
spent before any leisure for thought or ques- 
tioning came to her. 

Then she silently crept into the room 
where her father lay. The fire was burning 
on the hearth, its weird flickerings casting 
strange lights over the room ; on the bed, 
pale and sleeping, lay her father, her mother 
quietly watching by his side. Suddenly, like 
a heavy, unexpected blow, the truth flashed 
upon her : he would die, and she had prayed 
for it ! Penitence and remorse were almost 
overcoming her, when her father awoke and 
motioned to her, and she went to him. 

“ Is the kitchen fire out ? ” he said slowly 
and feebly ; ,( we can’t afford to keep two. ” 

All the tenderness and repenting van- 
ished ; she hastened to the kitchen, and for 
the first time she disobeyed him ; she filled 
the stove with wood, and sat down to warm 
her benumbed hands and to wait for Julius. 
When he came he went directly to the sick- 
room ; there was lifting and preparing for the 
night’s nursing for him to do. 


ZILPAH TREAT’S COMFESSION. 


87 


Zilpah went to her room and slept, 
youth and weariness overcoming the natural 
nervous sleeplessness. In the morning she 
hurried down stairs. “ He is better, ” her 
mother answered to her questioning. A 
wave of disappointment rushed over her. 
“ After all, would he live, and the old, nar- 
row, hateful life go on ? ” Mechanically she 
cooked, and ate and washed the dishes. 

For hours Samuel Treat lay in what 
seemed to be quiet slumber ; but a strange 
vision was passing before his eyes. He 
thought his soul had left his body and was 
immediately met by the spirit of his grand- 
mother, Aunt Axy Treat. He had never 
seen her, but his father and the neighbors 
had talked to him of her since his childhood, 
and he recognized her. Only a few weeks 
before an old lady, who in her young woman- 
hood had come with the emigrants from New 
England, sought him, and repeated to him 
his grandmother’s farewell words spoken in 
the church on the morning of their depart- 
ure. Very quietly and kindly she had 
urged him to heed them. He had roughly 
and emphatically assured her that he was 


88 


2ILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


perfectly able to manage his own affairs, and 
would allow interference from no one. Yet 
from no one. Yet her words had been in his 
mind constantly, and with a desire to resent 
them, and to prove his satisfaction in his way 
of living, he had redoubled his efforts in econ- 
omy, and become to his household more dis- 
agreeable penurious than ever before. 

When he would stay to gaze upon his 
body and its surroundings the spirit seemed 
to urge him to hasten, and he followed her. 
Quickly they left all familiar scenes, but it 
was not possible to tell how rapidly they 
moved, or in what direction. On and on 
they went, till finally they drew near a wall 
higher than his eye could reach, and seeming- 
ly interminable in its length. When the 
spirit approached, a small gate was opened 
by unseen hands and they went through. 
They were in a large city. Its streets were 
narrow and laid out at right angles ; the 
houses were cell-like buildings, each evi- 
dently intended for one person only, and the 
material of which these houses were made 
was most surprising. On one street they 
were composed of the evil desires indulged 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 89 

by mortal men, and each and every one was 
perfectly visible. One, and the one which 
seemed to him most horrible, was the street of 
blasphemies. Its homes were made of the 
oaths of different nations, as evident to the 
eye as they had ever been to the ear in his 
natural life. As he passed through this 
street he thought he heard sighs and groans, 
but he saw no one. 

The spirit hurried on till finally they 
came upon a scene which filled him with 
hope and joy. The streets were paved and 
the houses were built of coins of different 
nations. As he came upon those he recog- 
nized, he thought, his grandmother had 
brought him where money could be had for 
the taking, and he could go back loaded with 
millions upon millions, and all without work. 

The value of the coins grew less and 
less, as they went on. At last they stopped 
before a high cell built of five, ten, and 
twenty-five cent pieces. The spirit ap- 
proached this one, and, as he was wondering 
how he could carry enough of such small 
coins, she pushed a screen away, revealing a 
narrow, window-like opening. She beckoned, 


9 o 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


and he came forward and looked in. In the 
centre of the room he saw his father carefully 
counting pile after pile of five cents, dimes^ 
and quarters. His face was so haggard, and 
he was so evidently suffering great torture, 
that involuntarily he stretched his hands 
towards him, crying : “ O father ! let me 
come to you and help you ! ” His father 
looked up, a smile of recognition came upon 
his face ; it quickly passed, and the look of 
agony and remorse again covered it. 

“ No,” his father said, “ you cannot 
help me ; I must count carefully and accur- 
ately all this money ; what follows then I 
know not. I have tried to influence you to 
better living than mine. Sometimes I have 
thought I was succeeding, but I have been 
always mistaken ; my influence had been to 
atrong while I was with you. Your time is 
almost come ; the house near mine built of 
cents and half-pennies, is to be your prison. 
Nothing can change your fate now. But 
before you come to stay, go back to your 
family ; tell them you love them — they 
think you do not ; confess your mistakes and 
ask their forgiveness. This will comfort you 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


91 


greatly during your punishment ; then urge 
them to be charitable. They will not follow 
your footsteps, but they ueed to do more 
than merely avoid the evil you and I have been 
guilty of. Do not stay ; your time is short. 
Hurry back and make your peace with them.” 

Then the meaning of this strange city 
came to him. The worthlessness of the 
money he had sacrificed everything to gain 
was shown to him. His coldness and 
unkindness to his wife and children was 
made apparent to him, and in eager haste 
he followed the spirit back. Not because 
his father asked it ; for the love so long dor- 
mant filled his soul and he longed to tell 
them of it, to ask them to forgive him, and to 
hear them say, at least once before he died, 
that they loved and trusted him. . 

Late in the afternoon, while Mrs. Treat 
sat by his bedside watching her husband 
as he slept, he suddenly opened his eyes and 
asked her to call Julius and Zilpah, and to 
come herself ; he wished to speak to them. 
As they came to him a look of love and ten- 
derness never before seen upon his face sur- 
prised them. 


92 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


“ I wanted,” he said slowly and labori- 
ously, “ to tell you that I loved you, and ask 
you to forgive me — I have been so mistaken in 
my life — I want you ” — but his words were 
confused and meaningless. With great effort 
he struggled. There was a message he 
fought death to give them, but all in vain. 

The few words he had spoken turned 
Zilpah’s hatred and loathing to tender love 
and pity. That he, the strong, self-satisfied 
man, should humbly and in tears ask his 
children to forgive him, — it filled her with a 
sense of the shame and humiliation that he 
must suffer, and her whole heart went out to 
him in the desire to prevent and help. But 
while the struggle to speak still held him, 
there came that strange uneasthly look into 
his face, his hands fell, and instantly the 
quiet of death enveloped him. 

“ Oh ! is it over ? ” Zilpah cried ; “ it 
cannot be ! I must speak to him ! I must 
ask him to forgive me ! ” 

Tenderly they led her away to her own 
room, but she refused to be comforted, with 
hands tightly clinched, she sat in speechless 
agony. She kept still and listened while 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


93 


the bell on the Presbyterian church tolled 
slowly, thus solemnly announcing that one 
of the congregation had died. Then she 
counted the strokes, forty-five, telling the 
people the age ; and then one single one, 
that all might know it was a man that had 
gone. She could see just how the people, 
young and old, stopped to listen, counting the 
age-strokes and then waiting. If two fol- 
lowed, a woman had died ; if one, a man. 
She knew they all instantly decided it was 
Samuel Treat, and she felt fiercely angry 
when she realized that no one in the whole 
village would be sorry. She steadfastly re- 
fused to see any one, and her mother and 
Julius were obliged to deny her to villagers 
who flocked there to learn of her father’s last 
moments, and to express their sympathy. 

In these days there were no nurses to be 
hired, no burial robes to be bought ; and yet 
it was considered very unfitting to bury one 
in any garments that had been worn. 
Women of the same denomination helped 
each other in nursing and made the burial 
robes. Shrouds they called them. 

There was one young woman, Mrs. 


94 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


Hovey, a zealous Baptist, with that Christian 
charity that reacheth all ; her sympathy and 
help were never denied any one. She was a 
handsome woman, and her husband loved to 
adorn her beauty with the prettiest things 
that money could buy. Her beauty and her 
choice apparel were always pleasing. She 
was a nurse skilled without training ; her 
touch was always soothing, and she was so 
faithful and untiring that all physicians 
wanted her. When a baby came, she soothed 
the mother in her agony ; she cared for the 
baby, and every mother took her little one 
first from her arms. Her voice was a clear, 
sweet soprano with a pathetic quality usually 
found in contralto only. When all hope was 
abandoned and death was near, young and 
old asked for her to sing some of the com- 
forting songs of the church when they were 
dying. She never refused, but, exercising 
wonderful self-control for one so young and 
so full of sympathy, she sang by many death- 
beds. Then no fingers so deft as hers, nor 
so willing, in cutting, making, and putting 
on the burial robes ; and she did it all ever 
graciously. Many of all creeds held her 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


95 


dear in their hearts, but tne power of custom 
was so strong that only those of her own 
denomination bade her welcome to their 
homes for social pleasures only. 

Mrs. Hovey had been asked to cut the 
shroud. Jane Stevens, Mrs. Short, and Mrs. 
Brown had come to make it. Jane Stevens 
was a tall, angular, unmarried woman, a 
seamstress who regularly earned twenty-five 
cents a day except on occasions like this, 
when she cheerfully worked for nothing. 
She was always present on all important 
occasions, parties, weddings, and funerals ; 
and not waiting to be asked, she assumed the 
general management. She had a brusque, 
imperative way of doing things and of saying 
things, and she “ never spoilt a story for 
relation’s sake,” she said. It was her 
adverse opinion, however, that she gave so 
emphatically to people. If she had a good 
opinion of any she spoke of it with equal 
earnestness, but always “ to their backs.” 
‘‘Praise to the face,” she did not believe in. 

Mrs. Short was also tall and angular, and 
one not acquainted with her state would 
immediately have pronounced her an old 


9 6 ZILPAH treat’s confession. 

maid ; partly because from long living in 
single blessedness she had the air of one, 
and partly because she assumed a stiff, pre- 
cise manner in speech and bearing. She 
could and did say just as cruel things as 
Jane Stevens, but with such calmness and 
quietness that they did not seem so acrid. 
She had ancestors of whom she was justly 
proud ; her paternal grandfather was a Pres- 
byterian minister ; her maternal grandfather 
had been a teacher of Greek and Latin. 
These grandfathers gained for her awe and 
reverence from the old and mature. Her 
dignified manner and stilted talk had a like 
effect with the young and immature. Prob- 
ably out of defrence to the linguistic ances- 
tor, she was very particular in her choice 
of words ; she never used a short one when a 
long one could be found in her vocabulary ; 
frequently, when they were not forthcoming, 
she coined words for herself, high sounding 
and impressive. 

Mrs. Brown was known in the village 
as Lucindy Brown. Her husband lived only 
a few years after their marriage. Since his 
death she had lived on a small income, piec- 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


97 


ing it by calls planned skillfully just at meal 
time. Her chief accomplishment was gos- 
siping, but of a harmless sort, if such a thing 
is possible. It was principally the desire to 
hear and tell some new thing, though, of 
course, if it was something naughty the repe- 
tition was more startling and more enjoyable. 

Mrs. Hovey cut the robe in silence. 
The others would not allow themselves to 
make critical remarks concerning one of 
their own denomination in the presence of 
an outsider. When she had gone, and the 
ladies had taken their work carefully pinned 
and basted, Jane Stevens straightened her- 
self and said : 

“Did you notice Mrs. Hovey cut these 
breadths to go clear over the feet ? I think 
the old skinflint would turn over in his coffin, 
if he knew it.” 

“ Why,” said Mrs. Short, “ is it not 
customary to cover the feet when the cir- 
cumstances do not necessitate economy ?” 

“ Law ! yes,” said Jane ; “ but you know 
as well as I do that Samel Treat never paid 
for a yard of cloth when a half yard would do ; 
and here is three wasted. They do say that 


9 8 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


there are those that hold that the souls of 
the departed stay around for a spell. I hope 
his has, and he knows it. ” 

“ You had better be a little more cir- 
cumspect in your conversation/’ said Mrs. 
Short. “ If his departed soul is present it 
will comprehend you.” 

“I don’t care,” said Jane; “ I’d like to 
have it. He’s probably found out by this 
time that he was no earthly account, and the 
Lord interfered by special providence to get 
him out of the way.” 

“ Mercy ! ” said Lucindy. “ How you 
talk ; people that have motes better not be 
pickin’ out beams.” 

“Well, out with it!” said Jane ; don’t 
be beatin’ about the bush. If you have any- 
thing to say, say it ! ” 

“ Mr. Treat,” answered Lucindy, “ paid 
his subscriptions regular, and was always to 
church of a Sunday and of a week-day. You 
can’t say so much for yourself for four weeks 
ago come next Wednesday night.” 

“ I knew before you begun,” said Jane, 
“exactly what you was going to say. On 
that night I went to the Baptist girls’ enter- 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


99 


tainment. Of course I could have given my 
two shillings and gone to prayer-meeting. 
But I didn’t choose to. The money they 
made all went to the Widow Harris, and the 
land knows she needed it. I am not beholden 
to you or nobody else, and I’d do the very 
same thing again. In my Bible I can find 
about one allusion to goin’ to meetin’ ; but the 
times the poor is spoke of, and the times 
we’re told to care for ’em, you can’t count on 
the fingers of both hands, with the thumbs, 
thrown in. I s’pose my Bible and Samuel 
Treat’s are pretty much alike ; and will you 
just mention one instance when he done any- 
thing for the poor ? ” 

Neither woman answered. Both felt 
sure there were more allusions to going to 
meeting in the Bible. They remembered 
one, “ Not to forsake the assembling of your- 
selves together,” but their reccollection 
stopped there. Lucindy determined to stop 
at the minister’s and mark all the allusions 
to going to meeting that could be found in 
the concordance in his big Bible. Mrs. 
Short finally said with great dignity, “ Does 
the family contemplate dressin’ in mournin’ ? ” 

tLofC. 


IOO 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


She meant this to be a desire to check all 
further dispute ; but they knew as well as if 
she had said so that she did not answer Jane 
because she could not. 

“ No,*’ said Jane, ‘‘since Mr. Treat was 
asked to give something to buy mourning for 
the Widow Jones, he has preached against it 
from the house-tops. She couldn’t go against 
his opinions right at first.” 

“ Well,” said Lucindy, “ just wait a 
spell ; won’t there be high-flying times ? 
They say there ain’t no will, and there’s a 
pretty snug pile for all three. My ! won’t 
Zilpah go it ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Jane ; “ she’s about 
the worst hurt of anybody ; she ain’t been 
out of her room sence he died and she 
scarely eats or drinks.” 

“Well, it can’t be grievin’ for him,” 
said Lucindy. “No doubt she’s under con- 
viction. Standin’ in the presence of death 
would be likely to affect such a girl. I’ve 
no doubt she’ll join the church on the day 
of her father’s funeral. Wouldn’t it be beau- 
tiful ? ” 

When they separated, Lucindy, con- 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


IOI 


vinced by her own thought, told every one 
she met, calling at many houses, that “ Zil- 
pah Treat was under conviction and would 
likely join the church on the day of the 
funeral.” 

The funeral was over. Mechanically 
Zilpah had dressed herself and gone to the 
church. She had heard the minister, who 
knew nothing of her father except that he 
paid his subscription and came regularly to 
the services, eulogize him as few men were 
eulogized. She had seen him lowered into 
the grave. She had heard the sod fall with 
that sickening, echoless blow upon the coffin 
lid. She had come home and again gone to 
her room, refusing to be comforted. 

After a few days Julius persuaded her 
to drive with him. “ Why in the world do 
you grieve so ? ” he asked. “ Did you really 
love him ? ” hoping he might reassure her 
and comfort her she said. 

“ O Julius ! Are you glad he is dead ? 
Do you really think it is better so ?” 

“ Oh ! ” he answered, “ I could hardly 
say that ; I couldn’t be so mean as to wish 
my father dead ; but now I shall have a 


ZILPAH TREAT*S CONFESSION. 


ioi 

chance to do easily what I had planned to do 
at the hardest. I had intended to run away 
and earn my own living and an education. 
There’s lots of money, Zilpah, and we can go 
to school now.” 

But Zilpah had only heard I couldn’t 
be so mean as to wish my father dead.” 
These words kept ringing in her ears. 
“ Julius, O Julius ! If you only knew ! ” she 
thought. “ Can I tell him ? No, he must 
not despise me. I will tell no one ; after 
awhile I shall myself forget.” 

Days, weeks, months passed, but Zilpah 
did not forget. In accordance with her pas- 
tor’s urgent solicitation, she joined the church. 
The estate was settled. Her portion was a 
generous one. The house was enlarged 
and made attractive. A girl was employed 
to do the work, and her mother’s sweet face 
had lost its anxious, careworn look, she also 
wore the soft woolen gowns Zilpah had 
planned for her. Julius was already dis- 
tinguishing himself at school, and Zilpah, 
mechanically and without interest, was trying 
to do the things she had so joyously planned 
before they were possible. 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. I03 

But the burden on her heart, grew only- 
greater and greater. Her face was pale and 
her step languid. Friends advised a change 
of scene, and Zilpah and her mother went to 
the home of their ancestors. But no change 
of scene and no physician brought back the 
color to Zilpah’s cheeks, the light to her eyes, 
and her quick, elastic step. The Great Phy- 
sician did not come in answer to her pleading 
and lift the burden from her heart. 

Zilpah zealously guarded her secret till 
finally, when her every effort for relief had 
failed, she decided to confess to some one 
and be told what to do. She chose Mrs. 
Hovey and immediately started for her. 
For the first time in her life she stood at her 
door. She rang the bell and then, trembling 
in every limb, turned and hurried away. 

Before she reached the gate the door 
was opened. “ Oh ? ” said Mrs. Hovey, 
“ did you ring more than once ? ” And 
intuitively feeling the girl’s errand to be con- 
fidential, she put her arm about her and 
drew her to her own room. 

“ I have to tell you something terrible,” 
said Zilpah ; “ I must do it quickly or I shall 


104 ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 

run away.” Then she told all of it, justly, 
sparing neither herself nor her father. 

When she had finished Mrs. Hovey 
said : “ Why, child, God can help you ; 

though our sins be as scarlet, he can make 
them whiter than snow.” 

“ I know,” said Zilpah, “but he does 
not ; I have prayed day and night for weeks.” 

“ Perhaps,” said her friend, “ you are 
refusing to do what God has commanded and 
he withholds the blessing till you do it.” 

“ What can it be ? ” said Zilpah. 

“ You have never been baptized.” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” she answered, “ when a lit- 
tle baby, and I have lately joined the 
church.” 

“But do you not know that is not bap- 
tism ? A little sprinkling of water on a 
baby’s head is not being ‘buried with Christ 
in baptism.’ You must be converted first 
and then baptized, and God will surely bless 
you, for he has promised. Come to the 
church — our church, if your mother is will- 
ing. Ask the people to pray for you. 
Repent, believe, be baptized ; that is all that 
is required.” 


2ILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


105 

Zilpah went away encouraged. If that 
was all, she did repent ; she would believe 
and be baptized. Soon she had met all the 
requirements of the church and the day for 
her baptism was fixed. Zilpah had not “ felt 
her sins forgiven,” and some of the good 
people said “ that her evidences were hardly 
clear enough ; ” and yet there was so much 
proof : the requirements of the church were 
met, and likely after her baptism the blessing 
would come. They told her this, and with 
renewed hope and courage she waited for the 
blessing. 

The day of her baptism came. Firmly 
and without hesitation she walked down into 
the river. Her hope was so manifest in her 
face that one present said afterward : ‘‘She 
looked as if she expected the heavens would 
open and a dove descend upon her, and God’s 
voice assure her that he was well pleased.” 
But the heavens were as brass ; there was no 
dove, no comforting voice, but bearing her 
burden with all its weight she came up out 
of the water. 

Mrs. Hovey wrapped shawls about her ; 
and with arms around her, rode by her side 


106 ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 

without speaking, for she knew the peace 
had not come, but as Zilpah was going home, 
she whispered : “ Wait for the Lord’s sup- 
per ; God often appears to his people then. ” 
In quiet agony Zilpah waited for the com- 
munion. 

Wih the same hope and expectancy, 
she stood near the pulpit while the minister 
gave to her and others, as was his custom, 
“ the right hand of fellowship. ” Then she 
went to her seat, and with bowed head asked 
for the blessing with the bread and the wine. 
When these were passed her, she ate and 
drank ; but the burden was not lifted. 

Faithfully she did every duty. Church, 
social and school obligations were all met, 
but the same sad, hopeless look still rested 
on her face, and the unanswered pleading 
always seen in her eyes grew deeper and 
plainer. She sought every book on religious 
topics, thinking perhaps somewhere she 
would find what to do. One day in her 
eager search in the seminary library she 
came upon a book on the Roman Catholic 
Church, “ an expose of the practices of that 
church,” intended to repel all readers. 


ZILPAH TREAT*S CONFESSION. 


107 


Zilpah knew practically nothing of this 
church. She had been taught that its people 
were a fanatical, misguided set, and its 
priests wicked, sensual men who pardoned 
any sin for money. But this book told of 
penance, hard and varied ; of the wearing of 
sackcloth and ashes before the people, thus 
telling all that one had sinned and repented ; of 
walking with pebbles in the shoes till the feet 
were sore and bleeding, when the limping 
gait testified to all of the penance ; of long 
prayers on stone floors till the knees, raw and 
bleeding, could scarcely do their work ; of all 
sorts and kinds of bodily torment, sometimes 
lasting for years, and then, when all was 
expiated, the absolution free and full pro- 
nounced by the priest, God’s messenger. 

She took the book home. She read it 
over and over till she could repeat it word 
for word. Here she felt was her refuge ; 
she would go and confess and ask for the 
hardest penance, and then the free absolu- 
tion. There was no Catholic church in the 
village, none nearer than a distant city. 

She made her preparations for going. 
She made her will, leaving all she might die 


108 ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 

possessed of to be expended for the benefit 
of girls whose fathers, for any reason, denied 
them schooling. She gave little keepsakes 
to the friends she loved. She carefully 
packed the few things she would carry with 
her, and waited impatiently for the “ Church 
Covenant Meeting,” to make her purpose 
known. 

The Saturday afternoon came. In the 
basement of the meeting-house the church- 
members had assembled. On one side the 
men, on the other the women, and in front, 
behind a low desk, the pastor sat. As was 
their custom, beginning with the men and 
passing in turn around the room, each one 
spoke, telling any special religious experience 
of the last month. 

Zilpah sat still and motionless, waiting 
till her turn came. Then, rising, in clear, 
distinct tones she said : “ My friends, I stand 
before you today in the sight of God and the 
angels a murderer ! My hands are not 
stained with blood ; if they were, how will- 
ingly I would give myself up to pay the 
penalty. My heart is crimsoned with it, but 
no jury would for that condemn me to death. 


ZILPAH TREAT’S COMFESSION. 


I09 


I have tried in every way known to me to 
find God’s forgiveness. I expected it on my 
knees when I repented. I expected it when 
I walked down into the water, and was 4 buried 
with Christ in baptism.’ I expected it when 
at his table I partook of the emblems of his 
broken body and spilled blood ; but it did not 
come. Now I am going to the church that 
makes us suffer for our sins ; now I am going 
to the priest to confess to him, to ask the 
hardest penance he can put upon me, and 
then, when all is over, when peace has come, 
I shall come back to you purified, and you 
will receive me ; you will take me to your 
hearts ; you will know I have done all I could. 
Oh ! do not look upon me so coldly ; think, 
think ! I have murdered my father, and I must 
find peace! You cannot give it. Oh! let 
me go ; in tenderness and love, let me go 
where it shall come to me ! ” 

But the eyes of the people fell coldly 
upon her. The pastor frowned upon her, 
and motioned to her to sit down. But she 
would not. 

“ Can you not understand ? ” she con- 
tinued. “ Willingly I would give my body 


IIO 


ZILPAH TREAT’S CONFESSION. 


to be burned ; but you will not burn it ! I 
cannot, I cannot take my life myself ! I can. 
not longer bear the agony, I must be free ! ” 
Her knees trembled, she sank to the floor, 
but using all her strength, she drew herself 
up again, saying, " I will confess — I will do 
penance ! ” Again she sank to the floor, and 
again she raised herself. “ I will be for- 
given ! ” The third time she sank down, 
but she did not rise again. At the feet of 
the Great High-Priest her soul sought abso- 
lution ! 




MISS BREMEN. 

Hi 



N the bay window of her little 
parlor, Mrs. Grimsley was vainly 
trying to make old and limp cur- 
tains hang gracefully. Mr. Grims- 
ley, in an opposite doorway, watched 
^ her. There was love and admiration 
in his face. With a sigh she dropped her 
hands. “ It’s no use ! ” she said. 

Mr. Grimsley came forward and put his 
arm about her. “ What is no use ? ” he 
asked. 


“ Why, Henry, are you there ! it’s only 
the curtains. I can’t fix them to suit me,” 
she answered. 

“ You look fearfully tired, Irene,” he 
said, “ do you think clubs pay ? Whenever 
you have a paper you are sick for a week, 
and if the club meets here, a regular spring 
cleaning is necessary.” 


ZIX 


I I 2 


MISS BREMEN. 


“Yes,” she answered, “I learn a good 
deal, and then the nicest women in town 
belong to this club. Of bourse, I had to 
clean. If it had rained, every last woman 
would have had to go upstairs.” 

“Let me see,” said Mr. Grimsley, “there 
are twenty women in the club, and if they need- 
ed to go up stairs, it would take five bed 
rooms, not to mention halls and a bath room.” 

“ But, Henry ! When anyone goes up- 
stairs, the whole upper story must be in per- 
fect order and open, particularly if Mrs. 
Irwin is expected.” 

“ Don’t mention Mrs. Irwin, please. 
Poor Irwin ! Why, last night in that pour- 
ing rain he stood outside under an umbrella 
to smoke his cigar. I felt it was a case for 
the Humane Society.” 

“ He doesn’t seem unhappy,” she 
answered, “ and their house is simply immac- 
ulate. Never mind, she may lift every 
spread and peak into every corner ; ours is 
immaculate to-day.” 

“ And you are worn out,” he said. “ I 
don’t like it. I wish — but gracious, here 
she comes ! ” and he was gone. 


MISS BREMEN. 


113 


Mrs. Grimsley had put a card on the 
door asking the Wednesday club to walk in. 
Mr. Grimsley had barely made his exit when 
Mrs. Irwin, flushed and breathless, hurried 
in. “ Am I too early ? ” she asked. I 
always aim to be prompt ; yes, I will go 
up stairs. Which room ? ” 

“ It doesn’t make any difference,” Mrs. 
Grimsley answered, with such evident satis- 
faction that there flashed before Mrs. Irwin’s 
mental vision a vivid picture of vigorous 
house-cleaning. 

The members of the Wednesday club 
were as Mrs. Grimsley had said, “ the nicest 
women in town ; ” that is, women chosen 
from the “ best society,” having either money, 
renown or family antiquity. 

Mr. Irwin was a lecturer of no mean 
reputation. Mrs. Irwin was satisfied with 
him and with herself. She had “a raging 
antipathy to flies, dust, whist parties and new 
women.” To possess a well-appointed and 
well-kept house, she considered woman’s most 
praiseworthy ambition. She urged the club 
to study “ Domestic Economy.” 

Mrs, Poundstone was a member because 


MISS BREMEN. 


114 

Mr. Poundstone was rich and she was gener- 
ous. She was usually ill or out of town on 
the days appointed for her papers. On one 
occasion the ladies assembled to hear that 
she had “ forgotten entirely that it was her 
day,” explaining good naturedly, that she 
“ must be demented in her mind.” Mrs. 
Pondstone did not care what they studied 
if the papers were only short. “ It was so 
tiresome to listen and so much pleasanter to 
talk.” 

Mrs. Grey was the wife of a bishop. 
She felt competent and willing to manage 
the affairs of the club and was astonished 
and grieved that her plans did not always 
meet with approbation. She urged the study 
of the Old Testament Scriptures. She said 
“ the profound ignorance of all classes as to 
the shorter books of the Old Testament was 
appalling.” She asked if “ there was one 
member of that club who was familiar with 
Habakkuk, for instance ; with its picture of 
its present day corruption and its prophecy 
of fearful judgment ! ” 

Mrs. Storm’s husband was a politician. 
He had been a member of Congress. She 


MISS BREMEN. 


115 

was an ambitious woman, firmly believing in 
“Woman’s Rights,” devoting her energies to 
the formation of women’s clubs, confident 
than an organization could be formed large 
enough to take the legislature by storm if 
women could be made to feel their duty in 
the matter. The indifference of the club in 
matters so important to her caused her great 
annoyance, and really made her feel that 
“ after all, they were women of small 
resources and narrow vision.” 

There were the wives of artists, clergy- 
men and physicians, more or less interested 
in these particular lines. Most of the club, 
having husbands with general interests, were 
not specialists, but they were not common- 
place. 

The majority were well bred. They 
listened attentively to every paper and gave 
encyclopaedic productions on their days. 

A few listened or not, as it pleased 
them, and were always ready with prompt 
and indisputable opinions. The club had 
not been able to agree upon any line of study. 
Each member chose a theme for the day 
appointed for her. The industrious usually 


II 6 MISS BREMEN. 

learned the subject and prepared for the dis- 
cussion. 

Today Miss Bremen had the paper. 
She was the only unmarried member, a hand- 
some, brilliant woman about thirty years old. 
People called her queer, mainly because hav- 
ing a fine house and a large income she cared 
little for society and popular charities. She 
was interested in all new theories on all sub- 
jects. She was generous to the unfortunate, 
especially those whose own wrong-doing had 
brought misfortune. 

Lately she had been intimate with Mrs. 
Storms and had been persuaded to run for 
the school board. Just before the election 
she had withdrawn. During the campaign 
she had said much about political integrity, 
honest elections and an economical use of the 
people’s money, and a general reformation of 
all abuses, claiming that woman given the 
right of franchise would speedily bring about 
a political and municipal milenium. 

Naturally the ladies expected a paper 
on some political topic and the leaders in 
discussions had posted themselves in the 
current political literature of the party to 


MISS BREMEN. 


1 17 


which the male portions of their respective 
families belonged. 

When Miss Bremen arose, her perfect 
gown, her beautiful face and graceful posture 
made manifest the admiration of everybody 
in the room. When she announced her sub- 
ject, “ A Short Study in Theosophy,” sur- 
prise and disappointment was equally evident 
from many. 

Miss Bremen began with the Neo-Pla- 
tonic Theosophy of the second century, giv- 
ing clear and entertaining accounts of 
Plotinus, Porphry and Proclus, including 
their peculiar philosophy, their beautiful 
lives and their miraculous deeds. She then 
gave a history of the present school of 
Theosophy ; a description of its charming 
home, a clear statement of its peculiar beliefs, 
ending with the life and possibilities claimed 
by the adepts. 

When she had finished there fell upon 
the club that silence so embarassing to a 
speaker, which so often follows the presenta- 
tion of any belief antagonistic to the opinions 
of the hearers. Mrs. Poundstone whispered 
to her neighbor : “ Well, I always thought 


MISS BREMEN. 


I 18 

her queer, but I supposed she was a Christ- 
ian.” 

Mrs. Grey, straightening and assuming 
an expression of dignified resistance, asked, 
“ Are we to understand that you believe all 
this, Miss Bremen ? ” 

“ I cannot quite understand the astral 
body, ” Miss Bremen answered, “ and I am 
not sure about the transmigration of souls.” 

Mrs. Grey answered, “ That an astral 
body is not mentioned in the Scriptures is 
sufficient proof that there is no such thing, 
and the character of future rewards and pun- 
ishments is so clearly set forth that he who 
runs may read.” 

“ I am not so sure,” Miss Bremen said, 
“ perhaps the punishments of the Theoso- 
phists are as well founded as the Orthodox 
Hades. For my own part, I am satisfied that 
punishment sufficiently bitter is meted out 
to each wrongdoer here.” 

Mrs. Grey was manifestly too shocked 
to reply. 

“ Mr. Irwin, in one of his lectures, 
speaks of the ‘ incomprehensible twaddle of a 
recent Theosophist,’ ” Mrs. Irwin remarked. 


MISS BREMEN. 


11 9 

“ Many think,” Mrs. Prentiss said, “ that 
some of the most noted writers believed in 
metempsychosis ; Shakespeare and Robert 
Browning, for instance.” 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Storms, “ it doesn’t 
matter to us whether Theosophy is right or 
wrong, but we would like to know why Miss 
Bremen withdrew from a race when she had 
all but won.” 

Miss Bremen flushed, but she answered 
promptly, “ My reasons were purely per- 
sonal.” 

“ Do you still believe in woman suf- 
frage ? ” some one asked. 

“No,” Miss Bremen answered. 

“ Well,” Mrs. Poundstone said, “ neither 
do we, most of us, but we would like to know 
your reasons, all the same.” 

i( I had been led to believe,” Miss Bre- 
men answered, “ that opening the polls and 
political positions to women would after 
awhile so purify and ennoble politics that the 
necessary publicity and vulgar associations 
should not be considered. I had not stopped 
to think that the foundation of such a belief 
lay in the supposition that the majority of 


120 


MISS BREMEN. 


good and wise women is greater than the 
majority of good and wise men. Years ago 
Mrs. Jameson, after an impartial and exhaus- 
tive study of female sovereigns from Semir- 
amis of Assyria to Catherine II ot Russia, 
said : 

“ ‘On the whole, it seems indisputable 
that the experiments hitherto made in the 
way of female government, have been sig- 
nally unfortunate and that women called to 
empire have, in most cases, been conspicu- 
ously unhappy or criminal. So that were 
we to judge by the past it might be decided 
at once that the power which belongs to us 
as a sex is not properly or naturally that of 
the scepter or the sword.’ 

“ I think any one of us, from our limited 
observation, which, after all, is a fair sample 
of the great whole, must be convinced that 
in our own day and generation the number of 
wise and good women does not exceed the 
number of wise and good men.” 

An audible groan of dissent followed 
these words. A babel of voices followed 
the groan. It was impossible to hear dis- 
tinctly what anyone was saying. But occa- 


MISS BREMEN. 


1 21 


sionally Miss Bremen heard, “ How absurd ! 
“ Better than men ! ” “I think so.” “ Take 
temperance and church work ! ” “ Of 

course.” “ It has always been so.” “ Men 
as good as women ! ” *• Everybody knows ! ” 

“ And for a woman to say it ? ” “ What will 

we hear next ? ” — till the president rapped 
loudly and reminded the ladies that they 
were expected at Mrs. Brown’s tea, and 
adjourned the meeting. 

Miss Bremen did not go with the others, 
Mrs. Grimsley invited her to stay and have 
a cup of tea with her. They went into a 
cosy sitting-room, where from a large window 
they could see the glories of the setting sun. 

“ How beautiful ? ” Miss Bremen ex- 
claimed, “ and how very insignificant all our 
talk seems.” 

“ I enjoyed your paper,” Mrs. Grimsley 
said, “ I have no time to study these things 
and I was glad to know just what Theosophy 
is.” 

‘‘Do you care for woman’s rights?” 
Miss Bremen asked. 

“ No,” she said. “ I should be sorry to 
feel that I ought to care.” 


122 


MISS BREMEN. 


“ I would like to tell you,” Miss Bre- 
men said, “about my campaign, but if I do 
I shall want to tell you all about me, and I 
am afraid to do that. I am afraid you will 
not care for me any more.” 

“ I cannot think of anything you could 
tell me that would lessen my friendship for 
you,” Mrs. Grimsley answered. 

“I think I ought to tell you,” Miss Bre- 
men said, “ perhaps I ought to tell everybody, 
but I cannot. I think you knew nothing of 
me before I came here to take possession of 
my grandfather’s home and fortune. That 
was five years ago. 

“ My home was in a large Western city. 
My father died when I was a baby. My 
mother was a good and beautiful woman. 
She was full of sympathy for everybody in 
distress. She was the leader in many chari- 
table organizations and her time was so occu- 
pied that I saw little of her. My mother 
believed in early marriages ! Before I was 
thirteen I felt that the girls most to be envied 
were those sought by men. I had many 
baeux, of course, as all were welcomed, and 
great liberty as to frequency and hours was 


MISS BREMEN. 


123 


allowed. One was especially fascinating to 
me. I was sixteen and he was over thirty. 
He was a handsome, dashing, popular man 
and he treated me as if I were a queen. 
Soon he was thought by everybody to be my 
lover. 

“ He visited me constantly. I was mis- 
erable when away from him and rapturously 
happy when he was near. I yielded to him 
in all that he asked of me. He was called 
away from town. He promised to come 
back, but he did not come. Soon he stopped 
writing, and in a few years he died. His 
desertion, the cruel disappointment and the 
fearful self-accusation were more than I could 
bear. My health failed. I was sent from 
one physician to another, but no one helped 
me. My mother died. When I knew she 
must I longed to confess to her. When she 
had gone where everything is known, my 
very soul quivered with shame because she 
knew. I did not want to live, I was afraid 
to die. Only God knows what the end 
would have been if he had not sent one of 
his own to me. 

“ She was a dainty, delicate, timid 


124 


MISS BREMEN. 


woman. Her face was the most beautiful I 
have ever looked upon. I cannot make you 
see it. No picture could express its beauty. 
It was not form, nor color ; it was the soul 
shining there. I cannot tell what she did for 
me. Good and earnest people had talked to 
me before , but she seemed to read my very 
heart, and, knowing all, to love and trust me. 
In some way she made me forget and put 
away myself and with her to take to me the 
whole world in its beauty and its sorrows. 
There was so much to see and to do there 
was no time to weep. I was regenerated in 
mind and body. I realized my lack of train- 
ing. I entered college. I studied with all 
my strength. My object was not self-glory, 
but the ability to do for others. 

“ When I graduated I took up my 
mother’s charities. In my work I met again 
one of God’s own — one of the ablest, noblest, 
best of men. He loved me. He asked me 
to be his wife. When I told him all my 
past he forgave me freely. My life abounded 
with blessings. The best things possible for 
any woman were mine and I knew it and I 
was satisfied. 


MISS BREMEN. 


125 


“ My lover’s mother invited me to her 
home. I wanted first to tell her all my story, 
but my lover forbade me. I went to her, she 
was a proud woman. She talked much of 
family and of blood, assuring me that no one 
of her family had ever done an ignoble deed. 
I felt that I had no place there. 

“ One day I went with her to visit a 
Home for the Friendless that she patronized. 
I heard her talk to a wretched despairing girl, 
whose dead baby lay by her side. Her words 
were so full of comfort and encouragement 
that I was sure she would just so tenderly 
forgive and comfort me. On the way home 
I told her. Her manner toward me changed 
immediately. She said nothing, but she 
studiously kept her young daughters away 
from me during my stay. 

“ When I reached home I found a letter 
from her. She urged me to break the 
engagement. For, she said, as she could not 
receive me as her daughter, the marriage 
would take from her her only son and bring 
to him greater sorrow than I could assuage. 
I broke the engagement. The sorrow was 
the deepest I had ever known ; but there was 


126 


MISS BREMEN. 


no sin and I did not despair. I was made 
strong to bear it by the memory of the gentle 
woman whose quiet influence had saved me. 
My grandfather died and I came here. 

“When I went into the campaign I 
believed all I said. I believed women could 
accomplish all that I promised. After 
awhile, a woman, the organizer and leader of 
“The Working Women’s Clubs,” came to 
me and said that she could control a large 
number of votes, and if I would promise, if 
elected, to work for her daughter, who 
wanted to be principal of our grammar 
school, she would promise those votes to me. 
Upon inquiry, I learned the girl was well 
fitted for the place and I promised. 

“ Soon another woman came to me. 
She said she knew that all the women in her 
church (the largest in our ward) would vote 
as she urged them. She said she wanted a 
position as teacher for her seamstress’s 
daughter, for she could not keep both and she 
needed the mother. If I would promise to 
work for this girl she would work for me and 
her influence was great in her own circle 
outside the church as well as in it. I found 


MISS BREMEN. 


127 


the girl wholly unfit for a teacher’s position. 
I needed the support of the women in that 
church. When I spoke of my anxiety to one 
of our party leaders, she said, * You can 
promise and then find it impossible to elect 
her and tell no falsehood.’ I am ashamed to 
say that I promised. 

“ When everything seemed prosperous 
I received an anonymous letter from a woman, 
saying she did not believe in women setting 
themselves up over men, and if I did not 
withdraw my name she would publish on 
the first page of every paper in town all she 
knew about me. I do not know who she was, 
nor what she meant. I hope it was only my 
promise to the incapable girl. I knew the 
papers would be glad to publish anything 
against me. I was dissappointed and disgust- 
ed and glad to withdraw. I shall not blame 
you if you send me away from the club and 
away from your home.” 

Mrs. Grimsley reached her hand to her 
and was about to speak when her little daugh- 
ter came running in. She hurried to Miss 
Bremen and jumped into her lap and put her 
baby arms about her neck and kissed her. 


128 


MISS BREMEN. 


“ I love you best of all,” she said, “ ‘cept 
my papa and my mamma, and mamma loves 
you best of all ‘cept me and papa, don’t you, 
mamma ? ” 

And Mrs. Grimsley answered, “ Yes, 
best of all.” 



•THE CHALK LINE. 


Funeral was over. Thalia 
and Olive Mason stood 
in their doorway talking 
with the minister. The 
neighbors had returned 
chairs borrowed for the 
funeral, and removed all traces of sickness 
and death from the house. The minister, 
tall, dignified and reserved gazed upon them 
solemnly and as he went away said : “ May 

the Lord use this affliction to the enlighten- 
ment of your understandings and the purifica- 
tion of your hearts.” Anything less stilted 
would have seemed unbecoming, and the sis- 
ters felt that in some solemn, appropriate way 
the minister had pronounced his blessing. 
There were no marks of violent grief upon 
their faces. A stranger would hardly realize 



♦The Household. 


129 


THE CHALK LINE. 


130 

that anything unusual, least of all anything 
terrible, had come to them, and yet, that after- 
noon, they had stood by their mother’s open 
grave, and had seen her, the last one of all 
who had ever held them near and dear, buried 
out of sight forever. 

Many of the people in this New Eng- 
land town could remember when these sis- 
ters with their mother had just so quietly 
and apparently unfeelingly stood by their 
father’s coffin ; but the neighbors knew that 
a grief deep and lasting was there planted in 
the mother’s heart, though she made no sign. 
It was nearly forty years ago and the life of 
the “ Widow Mason” had been known and 
approved by the people. 

She had been a faithful mother ; had 
given the girls good schooling, and had 
always been ready and willing to make any 
sacrifice of her own comfort or needs for her 
children, but to her they had always been 
children, wholly subject to her. 

They had never in all their lives 
spent a cent of money ; they had never worn 
their best gowns, or visited a neighbor with- 
out her permission. They had never 


THE CHALK LINE. 


131 

expressed an opinion that differed with hers. 

They had never been caressed or 
petted ; they knew neither cruelty nor fond- 
ness, and now they felt, not that a great 
love had been taken from them, but that a 
certain protection, an exacting conscience 
had been removed, and they must decide for 
themselves. 

There were no great and solemn ques- 
tions of duty before them, simply the every- 
day necessities : “ What shall we eat, and 

wherewithal shall we be clothed ? ” Not the 
getting of these necessities, — there was a 
small income, amply sufficient, however, for 
all their needs — only the deciding what to 
get. 

Thalia was a tall, stern-looking woman, 
her face was plain, and bore upon it the 
consciousness of correct living. Thalia had 
“ always done right ” and she had resolved at 
her mother’s funeral to continue to do in all 
things exactly as she knew her mother would 
require if alive. 

Olive was two years younger than her 
sister ; she was small and rounded, her skin 
was clear, and her eyes blue and tender. 


132 


THE CHALK LINE. 


Her hair was light and curling, and, if she 
had ever had the privilege, she would have 
made herself attractive. There was some- 
thing winsome in her face ; she was pretty, 
if she was forty years old and always wore 
brown dresses. There was a pleading look 
in her eyes, a beseeching look as if she 
wanted something and if she dared would 
ask for it. She had wondered during the 
funeral, how much money she would have to 
spend, and if she would dare buy something 
pretty. 

They closed the door after the minister 
and stood for a moment looking at the room, 
so empty it seemed and so unlike what they 
had always known. There was one large 
room, a bed room on either side, and closets 
and pantries. These made the house. 

Mrs. Mason had been sick many weeks ; 
Thalia and Olive had been her constant 
nurses, and, worn-out mentally and physically, 
they were in that distressful spiritual condi- 
tion, when a trivial unpleasantness assumes 
vast proportions, and to be irritable, sharp 
and cross seems the natural way of living. 

“ I will get supper,” Olive said, and 


THE CHALK LINE. 


133 


Thalia sat in her mother's chair and knitted 
on the stocking she had begun before her 
illness. Olive noticed how Thalia seemed to 
step into her mother's place, and she felt 
annoyed. When the tea and toast were 
ready, Olive took a pretty glass dish from a 
high shelf, and filled it with quince preserves. 

“ Do you expect company ? ” Thalia 
asked. 

“ No,” Olive answered. 

“ I do not see,” said Thalia, “how you 
can go directly against mother’s wishes, and 
she hardly out of the house. You may eat 
the preserves, I shall eat toast and tea as we 
always have.” 

“I’ll not eat it to-night,” anwered Olive, 
“ but I’ll leave it in the middle of the table ; 
see how beautifully the quince juice has 
jellied. Isn’t the color pretty ? It reminds 
me of one of the rings we saw when that 
lady took off her gloves to be fitted, you 
remember ? ” 

“ I did not notice especially,” replied 
Thalia. 

“ I did,” said Olive ; “ those red stones 
are not expensive, I’ve heard ; I think I shall 


134 


THE CHALK LINE. 


buy one just to look at,” and she spread out 
her white, shapely hands and looked at them. 
Thalia, making no further reply, Olive looked 
at her. At first she saw surprise, then annoy- 
ance, and finally anger. It provoked her, and 
without thinking, she said : 

“ You needn’t think you are going to 
manage me ! I have longed for pretty 
things all my life, and now I mean to have 
them ! ” 

“ Very well,” answered Thalia, " it is a 
blessed thing for you that your mother lived 
till you were too old ; you would have been 
running after some man, likely.” 

Olive flushed. A guilty consciousness 
disturbed her. She had thought of lovers 
and of a husband, but she had never dared 
to be even courteous to any boy or man. 

“ How dare you say such things ! ” 
she demanded. 

" Because they are true,” Thalia an- 
swered. 

“ Take it back ! ’’exclaimed Olive, “ Take 
it back now, or never speak to me again ! ” 

“ Just as you please,” said Thalia. “ I 
shall never take it back.” 


THE CHALK LINE. 


135 


They finished the meal in silence. Nancy, 
the cat, mewed and rubbed against them, ask- 
ing for sympathy, but they did not notice her. 

Thalia felt that she had only spoken the 
truth and done her duty. Olive thought 
that her long hidden secret had been dis- 
covered, and she had been perhaps justly 
reproved. Yet Thalia was not her mother, 
she had no right to dictate to her, and she 
would not bear it. In silence they sat till 
bedtime, then Thalia took her candle to her 
mother’s bedroom, leaving Olive to sleep 
alone for the first time in her life. 

Olive's sleep was troubled, and waking 
about midnight, she heard sounds as of care- 
fully and stealthily moved furniture. She 
lay still and listened ; when the noise had 
stopped, she opened the door and looked out. 

The room had an unnatural look to her, 
but, strangest of all, her sister was on the 
floor with a yardstick in her hand, carefully 
measuring the room ; she did not move or 
look up when the door opened, and Olive 
watched her silently. She finally fixed a 
middle point, and then drew with a piece of 
chalk, a line through it, reaching from the 


36 


THE CHALK LINE. 


cooking-stove at the back, to the door in the 
middle front. 

Olive thought her sister must have sud- 
denly become insane, and was prompted to 
ring a bell from a window, a signal agreed 
upon with the neighbors in case of burglars 
or sickness, but before she reached the bell, 
Thalia went to the bedroom and extinguished 
her light. “ Olive would not speak to her, 
she “ never would again,” she had said, “ till 
she had taken back “ her dreadful words.” 

Morning finally came. Thalia was first 
astir, and when Olive came out the meaning 
of the chalk line was clear to her. All the 
furniture had been carefully and justly 
divided, and placed on either side of the line. 
On the stove were two coffee-pots ; the com- 
pany one on Olive’s side. As she came into 
the room, Thalia called : 

“ Here, Nancy ! Kitty, Kitty ! ” and when 
the cat came to her, she continued : “You 
belong to both of us, at least, until I can get 
another cat. You see, Kitty, Olive will keep 
house on that side, and I on this, and until 
she gives up her foolish ways, I shall never 
cross the line.” 


THE CHALK LINE. 


137 


“ Kitty, Kitty ! ” called Olive, and as 
Nancy came to her she said: “ Nancy, 
nobody asks anybody to cross the line, and I 
expect to do just exactly as I please.” And 
so the days passed. 

The little estate was equally divided 
between the sisters. All necessary messages 
were given to the cat in the other’s hearing, 
and life at home for each, except for these 
talks with Nancy, was spent in absolute 
silence. 

In two years’ time this way of living had 
become so customary, that its peculiar, sad, 
and comic nature never appeared to them, 
and rarely to their neighbors. 

“ Nancy,” said Thalia, one morning, “ I 
am going to take care of Mrs. Deacon Storms 
to-day. The poor man isn’t fit to nurse, and 
he needs rest. I shall stay all day. If any- 
body leaves the house, I hope they will not 
forget to lock the door and take the key.” 

There was a glad look in Olive’s eyes, a 
happy sound in her voice as she said : 
‘‘Kitty, nobody thinks of going away, but if 
they do, they will lock the door.” 

“Now,” said Olive, “ Kitty, we are all 


138 


THE CHALK LINE. 


alone. First, I will put this pretty ribbon 
on you ” — taking a bright red ribbon from 
beneath clothing in a bureau — “ you shall be 
pretty, too ; and see ! ” she continued, bring- 
ing a red cover from the same place, “ this 
is for your cushion, it cost very little, and 
how pretty it is ! Don’t you like it, Nancy ? ” 

Nancy purred loudly, and curled herself 
contentedly on the bright red cushion. 
“ And now, wait awhile, Nancy, and then see 
me.” 

From the back of her closet she took a 
bag. Carefully untying it she revealed a soft 
lavender dress. “ Look at it, look at it, 
Kitty, it’s mine,” she said. Then she curled 
her pretty brown hair about her broad, white 
forehead. “ There are no crow’s-feet yet, 
Kitty.” 

When the pretty lavender dress was on, 
and she stood before her little looking-glass, 
a feeling of genuine, grateful joy filled her 
lonely heart. 

Olive seated herself by Nancy’s cushion. 
“ Kitty,” she said, “a long while ago, more 
than twenty years, when all the girls but 
Thalia and I wore white dresses at the school 


THE CHALK LINE. 


139 


exhibition, and we wore our blue ginghams, 
the girls used to wear their hair falling over 
their shoulders tied with ribbons. 

“ The night of the exhibition, I took a 
blue string from my best bonnet, and after 
everybody had come, I slipped off the stage 
to a little back room, and unbraided my hair 
and let it flow loose, tied with the blue rib- 
bon. It was pretty, curly hair. 

“ After the speaking was over, Thalia 
and I were standing by Bella Green, and, a 
young man, a distant relative who was stop- 
ping at their house, came on the stage, and, 
listen, Kitty, I heard him say, 4 Who are the 
girls in blue, “Beauty and the Beast,” and 
isn’t Beauty pretty ? She’s the prettiest girl 
I ever saw.’ 

Thalia was always plain ; he meant me, 
Kitty, me. He was a beautiful young man 
all dressed up so different from our boys, and 
he said 1 1 was the prettiest girl he ever saw 

“ I was punished for fixing myself, but 
I didn’t care much, for I kept thinking of 
what he said. He married Bella Green, but 
she died awhile ago, and he is at Mrs. Green’s 
with their children. 


THE CHALK LINE. 


1 40 

“ And now, what do you think I did ? 
I did just what Thalia said I would when she 
divided the things. When Mrs. Green told 
us at the sewing-circle that he was coming, 
I knew he was the very man that said that 
about me, although I have not seen him since 
that night ; I remember just how he looks, 
and I told Mrs. Green, when we were coming 
home alone, to tell him, that his old friends 
remembered him, and would be pleased to 
see him. 

“ She did not remember, if she ever 
knew, that I did not know him. But, kitty, 
maybe he will come — maybe he will think 
still I am the prettiest girl he has ever seen. 

‘‘Then, maybe he will tell me how he 
has remembered my face all these years, and 
that he loves me, and after a long time I 
shall say ‘yes’ to his asking. And then I shall 
tell him how I have always remembered what 
he said. 

“ And, Kitty, his children shall love me, 
for I will always be thinking of things for 
them that will make them pretty — and may- 
be I shall have my own little child, and there 
will be little arms and big arms about me, all 


THE CHALK LINE. 


141 

loving me and thinking I am pretty, and say- 
ing so to me — to me, Kitty — to Olive 
Mason, who never in all her life has been 
loved hard by anybody.’' 

Nancy stood up, pricked up her ears, 
and lifted her tail 

“ Do you hear anybody, Kitty, oh, you 
do, and a man — what if it should be ! Oh, 
what if it should ! ” 

She picked up a black shawl lying near, 
and drew it close around her throat. She 
opened the door, a shabbily dressed man 
stood before her. He looked up at her, and 
grinned in a knowing, disagreeable way. 

“ Do the Mason girls, Thalia and Olive 
live here ! ” he asked. 

“ Yes,” she said, “ I am Olive.” 

Then he came clumsily in and seated 
himself in the most comfortable rocking-chair. 

“ You’re fixed pretty snug now, ain’t 
you ? ” he said. 

“Yes,” Olive replied. 

“ You don’t look strong, be you ? ” he 
asked. 

“ Oh, yes,” said Olive, “J am never 


sick,” 


142 


THE CHALK LINE. 


“ Now, do you think,” he continued 
" that with your sister’s help you could do the 
cookin’ and the sewin’ for six more, five on 
’em children ? You see my three oldest are 
boys, an’ they wouldn’ be of no ’count.” 

“ I suppose I could,” Olive said her face 
full of curiosity. 

“ Well,” he said, “ I suppose you 
wouldn’t object to building on a room 
or two and then if you’d provide things 
and take care of the children, I’de, I’de, well, 
I’de be the head of the house, the pertector 
in case of thieves etc.” 

“We are not afraid of thieves and I 
don’t think Thalia would care to take 
boarders,” Olive answered. 

“ It isn’t boarders I was a speakin’ of,” 
he said. “ You don’ catch on, do you ? 
Why, I ment ter marry you, and by George ! 
since I see you 'twouldn’t be a bit hard.” I 
am Bella Green's widower, an’ her mother 
tole me th’ hint you give to her.” 

Olive rose, her face crimsoned, she 
dropped the shawl from her shoulders and 
stood before him. 

“ I did tell Mrs. Green that your old 


THE CHALK LINE. 


143 


friends would be pleased to see you,” she 
said. “ She may have thought it a hint, as 
you say, but you see it was a mistake, don’t 
you ? ” 

“ Well, I s’pose so,” he answered. 
“ But by jimminy ! You are the prettiest 
woman I ever saw ! ” And he took his hat 
and went away. 

Olive hurried out of sight the pretty 
dress, and put on her old faded brown one* 
with her hair as straight and smooth as vigor- 
ous brushing would make it. 

Nancy rubbed against her and mewed 
gently. “ Go away ! ’’she exclaimed, as she 
pushed her aside. 

Nancy seemed to realize that the hour 
for red cushions and confidential talks had 
passed, and she dignifiedly crossed the 
chalk line and lay down on the old cushion 
on Thalia’s side. 

Tears came to Olive's eyes. “ Oh, 
come back, Nancy!” she cried. “ Nobody 
would speak to me if they knew, and some- 
thing bigger than a chalk line would separ- 
ate Thalia and me, but nobody will ever 
know, and I — I must forget the exhibition 


144 


THE CHALK LINE. 


and the blue ribbon, for the only part worth 
remembering was not true. 

“ Nothing beautiful is true, Kitty, except 
the outside things, — flowers, birds and 
trees, little children and young girls. The 
beautiful inside things are not true, they are 
only in books and foolish old maid’s hearts ; 
they are not real, but it is very hard, Kitty, 
to find it out — very hard ! ” 

Nancy stood up and lifted her ears. 

“ Yes,” said Olive, “it’s Thalia, we 
must never let her mistrust,” and Olive rat- 
tled the kitchen stove door and lids, evidently 
intent only on preparing a savory supper for 
herself. 

Thalia came bustling in. There was a 
kind, sympathetic look in her usually cold 
gray eyes. Nancy walked up to her side and 
stood expectant. Thalia glanced toward 
Olive, but Olive did not look at her. 

“ Well, Kitty, ” she said, “ I haven’t got 
to get my supper tonight. Those two old 
men, the deacon and his father, would have 
me stay to tea. They simply would not take 
no for an answer. MY ! Such a state as 
that house was in ! I tell you I made 


THE CHALK LINE. 


145 


that do-less hired girl of theirs* step up ! 
You know Nancy, the neighbors haven’t 
been there as they usually go when any one 
is sick. They don’t like Mrs. Storms and 
they are afraid of her too. I never paid the 
least attention when she told me that the 
chamois duster must be used for the mahog- 
any and the cheese-cloth for the rest. Cheese- 
cloth is good enough for any wood according 
to my notion. How anybody can suppose 
she has a patent right in the best way of do- 
ing things is a mystery to me. But I made 
her comfortable. I tidied up the house and 
humored her too. She sets great store by 
her posies, and I put a nosegay on the stand 
with her medicines. MY ! how pleased she 
looked. 

“ The doctor said she would be up in a 
week, There is nothing like having some- 
body about who knows how things should be 
done, if only for one day.” 

Thalia paused, and Nancy hurried over 
to Olive’s side, but she only bent and stroked 
her soft gray fur. For weeks and months 
after this day, Olive and Thalia lived in com- 
parative silence. Thalia felt that she had 


146 


THE CHALK LINE. 


been denied deserved approbation. She was 
conscious of an unusually friendly feeling the 
night after her renovating of the Storm’s 
house, and if Olive had spoken first she 
would have responded immediately, and per- 
haps, unasked, would have crossed the chalk 
line. 

Olive seldom thought of Thalia. The 
fascinating fancy of twenty years had been 
rudely dispelled. From the dream of a week, 
into which more joyous anticipations had 
been crowded than into any other year of 
her life, she had been roughly awakened and 
disappointment and mortification filled her 
soul. 

For months she groped about for some- 
thing new to live upon, but she found noth 
ing. Her books of poetry and romance no 
longer delighted her. Her winsome face 
grew cold and unattractive. Lines and wrin- 
kles came upon it. The neighbors noticed 
that her step was slower, and she seldom 
came among them They spoke of it to 
Thalia, but she saw only the marks of grow- 
ing old ; they had long been manifest in her. 

For several years Olive was only seen at 


THE CHALK LINE. 


147 


the church services, and when one Sunday 
she failed to go to church, several of the 
neighbors “ stepped in ” in the afternoon to 
learn the cause. Olive was about, but they 
noticed a change in her appearance, and one 
of them, Hannah Noble, decided to stay all 
night with her. 

Olive slept, but her sleep was disturbed, 
and she frequently called out in the night, 
talking of things which had no meaning to 
the watcher. 

“ Some sort of story that she had read, 
I fancy,” Hannah told the physician whom 
she had called in the morning. 

“ The end is near,” he said, “ it will only 
be a few hours, likely.” 

As he left the house he told this to 
Thalia. She listened respectfully, but she 
made no answer, and her face seemed wholly 
unchanged. 

“ Perfectly heartless,” he muttered as 
he went away. 

“Will you go to her?” Hannah asked. 

“Has she asked for me? When she 
does, I will go to her,” Thalia answered. 

Her voice trembled, and there was an 


148 


THE CHALK LINE. 


anxious, distressed look on her face, but 
Hannah did not notice it, she went back to 
the sick room. 

Olive’s bed was so arranged that she 
appeared to be sitting up, she could breathe 
better so. There was unusual color in her 
face ; her eyes were bright and clear ; her 
voice distinct and strong, and she talked 
apparently without effort. 

Her friend felt that the physician was 
mistaken in his decision, and yet the impulse 
to bring the sisters together was so strong 
within her that she felt any means justifiable. 

‘‘Did you hear what the doctor said, 
Olive,” she asked. 

“ Yes,” Olive answered, “ I heard, and I 
am not sorry.” 

“ Shall Thalia come ? ” 

“ Does she want to ? ” Olive asked. 

•‘ Yes,” answered Hannah, “ she wants 
to come.” 

“ Of course she may,” Olive replied. 

Realizing that she had made all the 
advances, and perhaps told a falsehood and 
trembling lest the meeting might prove 
worse than useless, she told Thalia, that 


THE CHALK LINE. 


149 


Olive had said she would like to see her. 

Thalia went to the looking-glass, a very 
unusual thing for her to do, she carefully 
brushed her hair, and put on a fresh collar, 
though the one she wore was spotless. 
“ Olive likes things neat and orderly,” she 
thought. 

She quietly and calmly crossed the line 
to her sister’s bedroom. When she went in, 
Olive was intently looking away from where 
she stood, and did not notice her coming. 

Thalia, startled and terrified by the 
change in her sister’s face, stood motionless 
by the bedside. “Has she grown so thin 
and careworn and I have not noticed it ? ” 
she thought. “ Could I have helped her, and 
perhaps kept her longer, and is it too late ? ” 
A great sob was in her throat. She wanted 
to take her sister in her arms and weep over 
her ; but she only stood still without speaking. 

They are each waiting for the other to 
speak, Hannah thoughtjshe coughed that Olive 
might turn and look, then she left the room. 

There was a happy smile on Olive’s 
face ; she reached her hand to Thalia, who 
clasped it closely in both her own. 


ISO 


THE CHALK LINE. 


“ Did you see ? ” Olive asked ; “ they 
motioned to some one as they were going, it 
must have been to you. I did not hear you 
come.” 

“ I saw no one/’ Thalia answered, 
“ Who was it ? ” 

“ It was father and mother. Father 
looked so young I could not recognize him. 
Mother has not changed at all. I have seen 
them often, lately, in my dreams, but never 
till now really face to face." 

“ Did they say anything about us, about 
our way of living ? ” 

“ No,” Olive answered ; “ I think they 
could not know, but they told me something 
that makes me so happy and so eager to go, 
I cannot bear to wait.” 

“ What was it ? ” Thalia asked. 

“ It will not mean so much to you, 
Thalia, you are contented and happy ; but 
I — I have longed and longed so all my life 
for things I could not have. Do you remem- 
ber the book we read while mother was here ; 
the book that promised that heaven should 
bring to each and every one, the things 
longed for here, but never obtained ? Mother 


THE CHALK LINE. 


151 

said it was ‘all foolishness’ then ; now she says 
it is true that all worthy things denied us 
here shall be ours there. Oh, I have so longed 
to be loved ! I have dreamed so often that it 
has come to me, only to wake and find it all 
a dream.” 

“ Yes,” Thalia answered, “ I understand, 
I have wanted to be loved, too.” 

“But, Thalia,” Olive continued, “my 
longings are not like yours. I will confess 
it all to you now, since I am so soon to real- 
ize it, and in Heaven, too. I do not feel 
ashamed. I have wanted a lover, a strong, 
brave, true lover, one that should see all that 
is good and beautiful in me, and make me 
better and more beautiful — only dreams 
false and fading here ; there, realities, lasting 
and true.” 

Thalia knelt by the bedside, and when 
her sister ceased speaking, she hid her face 
on the bed. 

Olive laid her hand gently on her head. 
“Does it grieve you, Thalia?” she asked. 
“ Are you ashamed that I am so foolish ? ” 

“ No, oh, no ! ” Thalia answered, and, 
without lifting her face, she whispered, 


152 


THE CHALK LINE. 


“ Olive, you think me satisfied, contented, 
without longings. I have had dreams like 
yours, only there are always children in mine, 
I have felt their arms about my neck, and 
they have loved me, and have not noticed 
that I was plain and unattractive. They 
have been glad to have me caress them and 
control and direct them. It has been beauti- 
ful for me in my dreams.” 

Olive did not answer. Thalia lifted her 
head and looked at her. There was the same 
happy look on her face, but with it a change 
that Thalia recognized. She arose, she made 
no outcry, but carefully and tenderly laid her 
sister down as if in quiet sleep ; then she 
went out to her neighbor’s side. “ She is 
gone,” she said, and Hannah wondered “ how 
anybody could be so wholly without feeling.” 




A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 





pr^ 1 IJIOW, girls, there is one thing 

^ ^ nr ^ upon which I am determined ; I 
4 shall have nothing whatever to 
4 do with any man this summer. 

ill I am so sick of the ‘summer 

girl and her flirtations.’ There shall be 
one exception to the general rule, and I wish 
there might be three. What do you say ? ” 

“ Oh, Eleanor ! Is John so strict ? 
Must you write every day and eschew men 
entirely ? ” 

“John ? Why, didn’t you know, Grace ? 
John is engaged, and to the prettiest, bright- 
est, and richest girl in Kansas, though the 
last named accomplishment did not influence 
him in the least. I learned all this from 
him, so it must be true, and I have known 
it ever since I have known him.” 

“Well, devote yourself to women and 


153 


1 54 A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 

sketch-books. I am in for a jolly good time 
and I don’t see it without a man, at least one 
in the landscape. Do you, Jen ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know. It makes very lit- 
tle difference to me. I take what comes. If 
it’s a flirtation, all light ; if it’s girls and 
sketch books, no matter, so it’s agreeable.” 

“Very well, then, girls, count me out 
in all affairs where there are unmarried men. 
As for Grace, she will be in love twenty 
times, I suppose, and, Jennie, with you it flirts 
itself, you are not responsible ; you beamed 
on that cross agent and he smiled ; even the 
porter in the sleeper took all his orders from 
you, and did all his extras for you. With me, 
it would require an effort, and the game is not 
worth the candle. If I never saw a man 
again, save my father, I should be satisfied.” 

Eleanor Pearce was twenty-five years 
old. She was married at seventeen but her 
husband lived only a year, long enough 
however, for her to learn that her marriage 
was a mistake. Her golden idol was but 
clay and although there was nothing for peo- 
ple to see, no bad habits nor crooked busi- 
ness, there was a lack of honesty and purity, 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 


155 


the knowledge of which came to her with 
overwhelming force and overshadowed so 
completely the good, that in her heart she 
came to hate the man she had loved, and his 
death brought no grief. The sorrow came 
with the disappointment weeks before. 

For two years she wore mourning; since 
then she had been among her girl friends as 
one of them. Very few ever thought of her 
as a widow, and the memory of that year of 
disappointment had almost left her. 

She was strikingly handsome, free and 
winsome, yet with a quiet dignity about her 
that repelled familiarity even in women. 
She had studied hard and faithfully for the 
last six years, and had decided to teach, for 
she wanted to be busy. She was a tall, 
graceful blonde, her hair was ugly, it was a 
perfect flax in color, though abundant and 
curling ; her eyes were violet, her complexion 
ideal, but her mouth small, curved and red, 
was her chief beauty. Her voice was low 
and sweet, she talked well and fluently, and 
she was sought by everybody, men especially. 

Grace Linton was a little, black eyed 
girl, full of fun and daring. She was pretty 


156 A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 

and attractive. She was harmless, and really 
made very little difference in the world. 
She had no ambition beyond a good time and 
a man was quite necessary to the good time, 
and he must be “ especially interested ” in her. 

Jennie Stone was positively ugly. 
There was but one redeeming feature, she 
had a good figure. She had plenty of money 
and good taste. She sang well and was 
well read. People soon forgot how ugly they 
had thought her at first, for she won the 
respect and admiration of all and the love of 
as many as she chose. 

Eleanor Pierce and Grace Linton were 
Jennie Stone’s guests on Squirrel Island, and 
Mrs. Stone overheard the foregoing conver- 
sation with disappointment. She knew three 
young men who were to spend a month on 
the island. She had engaged their rooms 
and places were reserved for them at her 
table at the hotel where she and her guests 
took their meals. 

One of these men had asked her if he 
might come to see her daughter. She was 
happy in this knowledge. She had feared 
her “ ugly duckling ” (as she called her), 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 


157 


would never win any one, though money 
might attract some ; but George Case was 
rich, and he was honorable and pure, 
and he loved Jennie. She hoped this sum- 
mer would settle things. Then Will Thorne 
was coming just for fun. He and Grace would 
be a splendid pair. He was steady and cautious 
enough to keep the fly-away from drowning. 

She acknowledged to herself a little 
matchmaking plan of her own. She had 
asked Professor Tylor to come because she 
had wanted him to know Eleanor. She had 
hoped great things from the acquaintance. 
He was a young man, scholarly and attractive, 
honest and pure and she felt sure if the two 
people could be thrown together there would 
be no further need of planning for them. 

This resolution of Eleanor’s spoiled it. 
She knew it would be kept, for Eleanor did 
not make such assertions for nothing. That 
night she thought of a plan which she decided 
to adopt. She would introduce the Professor 
as a married man, and he must consent. 
Fortunately, no one there knew him but her. 
She would write and tell him of the girls’ 
talk and ask him, for the fun of it, to let her 


I58 A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 

represent him as married. He need not 
assent ; he need simply refrain from denying 
She would tell him that the girl he would 
enjoy most was the one who made this 
resolve, but she would not tell which one. It 
would be easy enough to correct it after 
awhile. The plan was so fascinating — she 
could hardly wait the coming of the men. 

There was never before such a dearth of 
men on Squirrel Island. Grace had made a 
fifteen year old boy her devoted slave, and 
Mrs. Stone was in constant fear of their 
drowning ; indeed, their hair-breadth escapes 
were the talk of the island, and their practi- 
cal j okes were feared by every one, yet every- 
body enjoyed them and it would have been 
dull without them. 

On the first day of August Mrs. Stone 
said quietly at dinner, “ We shall have three 
new people at our table at supper time, Mr. 
Case, Mr. Thorne, and Professor Tyler ; Mrs. 
Tyler is not coming.” 

Jennie started a little when she heard 
Mr. Case mentioned ; Grace looked greatly 
pleased, but Eleanor, in perfect indifference, 
ate her dinner. 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 


159 


“Who is Professor Tyler, mamma?” 
said Jennie. 

“He is one of the best men I have ever 
known,” Mrs. Stone answered, " as well as 
one of the most capable. You can decide for 
yourselves as to his looks. I expect you to 
treat him kindly. I asked him to come.” 

“ Why doesn’t Mrs. Tyler come ? ” asked 
Grace. 

“ I didn’t ask him,” Mrs. Stone answered. 

“Now, Eleanor,” said Grace, “ the fates 
smile upon you, here is your married man, 
and he is learned. You can talk Theology. 
Theosophy, Philosophy, and all other ’ologies 
and ’osophies to your heart’s content ; and 
Jennie and George Case can have the whole 
south shore, and Mr. Thorne, (if he likes the 
water,) can row snd fish with the most agree- 
able of companions. 

“ But what of poor Harry ? ” enquired 
Eleanor. 

“ Oh,” said Grace, “ there is an infant at 
the hotel longing for a companion and Harry 
is just the right age. I have felt like a thief 
for a week.” 

It had been prosy for Eleanor, and she 


160 A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 

was pleased that so pleasant an addition was 
to be made to their circle, so she told herself, 
and as he was such a man there would be no 
effort at flirting ; she hated married flirts and 
she could enjoy him just the way she liked 
best. She unconsciously took extra pains 
with herself at supper time. She had a pretty 
lavender dress which just suited her com- 
plexion as to color, and whose texture and 
making made her form look its best. She 
put it on. There was soft white lace at the 
neck, and graceful bows with flowing ends 
at the shoulders and waist. A fairer, sweeter 
picture was never seen. 

When they met at supper, Mr. Tyler 
wondered which of the three was most 
attractive in Mrs. Stone’s eyes, and so the 
one who would see only married men. 
There was no question as to which attracted 
him. After supper, Mrs. Stone invited them 
to her cottage for the evening. As they left 
the table, George Case immediately appropri- 
ated Jennie. Grace’s mischievous smile at- 
tracted Will Thorne, and to the Professor’s 
delight he was left to Mrs. Pearce. He had 
wondered when he heard her called “ Mrs.” 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. l6l 

and looking at her girlish face and figure, and 
remembering Mrs. Stone had said “ three 
girls,” he decided that he had not understood 
so he carefully refrained from speaking her 
name until he could inquire. 

“ The island seems very pleasant,” he 
began. 

“ Yes,” answered Eleanor. “ It has 
everything necessary except surf bathing, but 
the grandeur of the breakers on our south 
shore, makes us forgive them that they break 
on the rocks instead of a sandy beach. Will 
Mrs. Tyler be here ?” 

“ I hope so,” he replied, and she did not 
at all understand the merry twinkle in his 
eyes. 

When they reached the cottage the 
others were there and the house rang with 
their laughter. 

“ What is it ? do tell us,” said Eleanor. 

“ Oh,” replied Grace, “just before sup- 
per I went down to the south shore ; I was 
sitting just below the Cleft Rock. It’s a 
very pretty walk, Mr. Case, through rocks 
that seem to be masonry, they rise so evenly 
on either side ; there is just room for two to 


1 62 A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 

walk between the tall, sweet ferns that grow 
at the bottom of the walls ; I really felt senti- 
mental, making the walk all alone. As I 
seated myself I noticed, just in front of me, 
three boys cautiously crawling under some 
shrubs that grew close behind a tree that 
shades a rocky seat, just big enough for two. 
One of them giggled, and a man rushed out 

with his cane uplifted, * You little !’ he 

cried. He didn’t see any one but me, and 
he tipped his hat and went back. It was 
Mr. Graham. 

“ Pretty soon, one by one, the young- 
sters crawled out, they didn’t see me, but 
they seated themselves where I saw them 
distinctly. One of them took off his cap and 
rumpled his hair low on his forehead and 
made himself look for all the world like that 
Miss Andrews, and one of the others got 
dovtn on his knees and took his (Miss 
Andrews) hand, saying something that I 
could not hear, then he hugged and kissed 
him. All three then sneaked off to a safe 
distance and fairly roared. Mr. Graham 
came out again, but being sure, I suppose, 
that I couldn’t make all that noise, went back. 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 


163 


“ Wasn’t it funny ? And isn’t it out- 
rageous ! Don’t you remember how he made 
fun of the ‘ Ancient Mariner,’ as he called 
her. He can’t be flirting with her. He is a 
poor clergyman you know, and she is a rich 
spinster. I don’t trust him. Eleanor, I am 
going to bring him here for you to read his 
history.” 

“ Oh, pray, don’t, Grace,” protested 
Eleanor, *• 1 shouldn’t like to touch his hand.” 

“ Do you believe in Palmistry ? ” asked 
the Professor. 

“ Oh, I know nothing about Palmistry,” 
Eleanor answered. “ I hold one’s hand 
when I ‘ read ’ as the girls say.” 

“ Tell me, will you,” he said, “ what you 

do ?” 

“ Why, really, I don’t know that I do 
anything,” she answered. “ I have all my 
life been conscious of a singular power. I 
have been able by hard thinking to call my 
friends to me when they were in the same 
town and to make them write to me when 
far away. Last year I visited in Denver and 
I met a psychic reader there, and she told 
me I had only to let myself and I could do 


1 64 A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 


more or anyway as much as she. She told 
me how, and I have tried with my friends, 
and have told the truth about strangers by 
holding their letters or, if present, by hold- 
ing their hands. I don’t like to do it. I 
simply give myself up and if I speak at all I 
must tell what comes to me. It is not 
always pleasant to tell or agreeable to hear.” 

“ I should be very glad,” he said, “ to 
see something of the kind. I never have and 
I confess it doesn’t seem probable to me. 
Do you not think it is imagination ? ” 

“ It may be,” she replied, “ but it 
imagines correctly about people I have never 
seen and about whom I have never heard, 
but, as I said, I do not like to do it.” 

“ Oh, there they are ! ” exclaimed Grace, 
“ I will call them in,” and before any one 
could stop her she was out on the walk talk- 
ing with Mr. Graham and Miss Andrews. 

Miss Andrews was no longer young. 
She must have been over thirty. She had 
always lived in a small village in Maine. 
Lately she had inherited a large fortune and 
was making her first visit to a watering place. 
She had an unusually sweet face and if her 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 1 65 

ways had not been so stiff and old fashioned 
she would have seemed much younger. 

Grace brought them in saying, “ Miss 
Andrews is willing to have her fortune told. 
Please do, Eleanor.” 

“ Oh, I don’t tell fortunes,” Eleanor 
replied. “ I only read histories.” 

“ Well, anything you can do,” said Miss 
Andrews, smiling, “ any game that pleases 
the young folks.” She seated herself near 
Eleanor who took her hand. 

“ Remember,” she commenced, “ I only 
tell what I see. I am not responsible for 
any of it.” Then leaning back in her chair 
she closed her eyes. After a short pause 
she began : 

“ I see a pretty village ; there is a long 
street with a wide shaded driveway. Back 
on one side is a hill whose top is covered 
with woods, on the other a slow winding 
stream with shaded banks. I see a white 
church with long green blinds and near it a 
cottage. The cottage is white too, and there 
are thick vines over its porches, which are on 
every side. There is a flower garden with 
all the old-time flowers, and there are large 


1 66 A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 

trees with swings. There is an orchard and 
the trees are loaded with rosy apples. Under 
them I see a little girl playing. She has 
curling, auburn hair. On the cottage porch 
are two elderly people, a man and a woman. 
Their faces show education and refinement 
and there are no marks of toil. These are 
the little girl’s grandparents. She knows no 
other parents for hers died when she was a 
babe. She is their idol and very tenderly 
and wisely guarded. Nothing that defiles 
ever enters the cottage if the little one is 
near. Her playmates are chosen for her, her 
books selected. She is taught Greek, Latin, 
Mathematics and History, and so quietly and 
gently that she hardly realizes that she is 
learning. She is sunny and loving and her 
life is one long, quiet, happy day. She has 
one dear girl friend, and now as she nears 
womanhood these friends play lovers. I see 
long letters pass between Kenneth and Mary, 
as they call themselves, and the only love 
story she knows is this make-believe one 
with her friend. I see one dark time. The 
girl is a woman and the dear old people are 
called home, but she is a Christian and she 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 1 67 

has a Christian’s hope of a happy meeting 
hereafter.” 

Eleanor stopped. Miss Andrews had 
withdrawn her hand to wipe the tears that 
were falling fast. “ It’s all true,” she said, 
“ and I could not tell it so well myself.” 

“ Now you, Mr. Graham,” said Grace. 
He hesitated a minute, and then saying to 
himself, “ It is mind reading if it’s anything. 
I can manage my mind.” He came forward 
and offered his hand. 

Eleanor took it, there was a long pause. 
The silence was oppressive. Miss Andrews, 
the tears still in her eyes, and with an 
anxious, almost pleading look in her face, 
listened eagerly for Eleanor’s words. 

“ I see,” said Eleanor, “ a luxurious 
home in a large city. I see tender, indul- 
gent parents — a wilful disobedient boy. I 
see this boy grown to manhood ; he is pacing 
a large empty room, in his hand he holds a 
letter — it is from his father — it tells him he 
has paid the last debt for him, he will do no 
more — he will never look upon his face again 
unless there is an entire change in his life. 

I see the young man tear the letter and throw 


1 68 A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 

it from him — he sits down — he seems for 
minutes to be fighting with himself ; I see 
him get up, determined, and the look in his 
face is one of anger and defiance. I see him 
again in a large church and the minister is 
laying his hands upon him, near by are his 
father and mother and happy tears are on 
his mother’s face. The young man is a min- 
ister. I hear prayers from his lips ; there 
are none in his heart. He smiles and urges 
people to be good but he carries no marks of 
Christ’s love about him. Little children 
shrink from him, it pleases him. I see him 
in a little village, pastor of its church — I 
see a gentle young girl there — I hear him 
tell her of a great love he bears her, I hear 
him urge her to believe that in God’s sight 
they are as truly married as if priest or jus- 
tice had pronounced the words. I see her 
give her whole soul into his keeping, her pas- 
tor’s keeping. She is waiting for him now, 
there is no doubt, she is sure of his coming 
for he has promised.” Abruptly Mr. Gra- 
ham jerked his hand away. “It is time this 
tomfoolery stopped,” he said, and rising, with 
a hasty good night, he left the cottage. Miss 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 1 69 


Andrews followed him. Eleanor saw tears 
in the girl’s eyes when she opened hers and 
she was so depressed and unnerved that she 
begged to be excused and went to her room. 

“ Oh, dear! ” exclaimed Grace, jumping 
up and cleverly imitating a popular actor, 
“ I see Othello smothering Desdemona, I see 
Romeo dying in the tomb, and I must scream, 
4 Lay on, Macduff, and damned be he who 
first cries hold, enough ! ’ Who’ll beat me to 
the lower spring ? I have a water can there.” 
This spring was about half a mile away. Out 
she ran, Will Thorne followed her, and their 
racing on the wooden walk was heard for a 
long time. 

“ Let us go/’ said George Case looking 
at Jennie. “ Very well,” she answered, and 
they went out together. 

“ Does Miss ? or Mrs. ? often give such 
seances ? ” asked Professor Tyler. 

“ Mrs ! No ! ” answered Mrs. Stone. 

“I thought there were three girls, ” he said. 

“ She was married very young. Her 
husband lived only about a year after their 
marriage, we never think of him,” she 
answered. 


170 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 


“ Was she happy ? ” he inquired. 

“ I don’t know,” she replied, “ no one 
knows. Her mother is an old friend of mine. 
She says Eleanor has never said so, yet she 
feels sure she was not happy. She has put 
everything away that would remind her of 
him, even the engagement ring. There was 
no wedding ring, her parents are strict Bap- 
tists. Whatever she does is honestly done, 
I know.” 

“ Is she the most attractive one to you ? ” 
he asked. 

“ Not to me,” she answered. “ Not 
more than my own daughter, but to people 
generally.” 

“ Then,” he said, “ she was the one who 
wanted to see only married men this sum- 
mer. Do you think she will likely forgive a 
bachelor who has posed as a benedict ? ” 

“ She need never know,” said Mrs. 
Stone. 

“ True,” he said. “I had not thought 
of that. Please tell her that I hope her effort 
to entertain has not been too great,” and 
with a good-night he went away. 

Jennie and George had walked silently 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 171 

along the wooden walk. They had overtaken 
Grace and Will near the spring, where they 
rested after their race. George had proposed 
a walk to the south shore. They had passed 
by the cottages, through The Grove, and the 
Cleft Rock, and seated themselves close to 
the water’s edge. Behind, and on either 
side, the bare rocks stretched ; in front, the 
broad ocean, and over all a cloudless sky and 
such bright moonlight that the dark green of 
the waves as they approached, the light 
emerald when breaking, and the snow white 
foam were clearly seen. They saw no one, 
they heard no one, they heard nothing save 
the roar of the ocean and the splashing of 
the breakers. With hearts too full for speak- 
ing, they watched wave after wave come and 
break and go back, and listened to the silence 
which the waves alone disturbed. 

“ One actually feels God here,” said 
Grace. I am almost afraid to think. Let us 
walk,” and she and Will went away. 

“ What a beautiful life Eleanor gave 
Miss Andrews ! ” said Jennie. “ Her face 
fits it perfectly.” 

“ And what an ugly one she gave Gra- 


172 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 


ham,” remarked George, “ and how imper- 
fectly his face fits it.” 

“ Oh ! I don’t know,” she replied, “ I 
have never trusted him. I know nothing of 
him, but I have not been to the chapel when 
he preached, his prayers would seem blas- 
phemy to me.” 

“ Does his face look wicked to you ? ” 
he asked. 

“No,” she answered, “but there is an 
indescribable something that a bad man 
carries with him and women feel it.” 

“ Not all, I think,” he said. “ else good 
women would not so often marry wicked 
men.” 

“ Yes,” she replied, “ I think we all feel 
it ; some, put the feeling away when they are 
told it is false, some overlook, some forgive 
and some hope to correct.” 

“ Would you overlook, forgive, or hope 
to correct ? ” he asked. 

“ I am sure I cannot tell. I hope I may 
never be tried,” she answered. 

“I was thinking,” he said, “when lis- 
tening to Graham's story, that I would be 
willing to give her my hand and have mine 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 


173 


read before you, not that there have been no 
mistakes, no sins, but I have always hoped 
that some day some woman would come to 
me — my wife — and I should ask no more 
of her than I could offer. Of course, I do 
not mean my life would be as unselfish, as 
pious as a woman’s, but it should be as pure. 
I have wanted for a long time, Jennie, to 
offer it to you. Will you take it ? " 

“ Before I answer you,” she replied, “ I 
must tell you something about myself. You 
may not ask it then. When I was fourteen 
years old I sang in a church choir in a village 
near the city ; my father was the leader. The 
organist was a married man, people thought 
he was a good man ; he was surely a fine 
musician. I loved music above everything ; 
a good musician always enchanted me. This 
man flattered and petted me so openly that 
my father spoke to me about it, and I, while 
I knew it was not true, maintained that his 
conduct was in no wise wrong. I was an 
overgrown, headstrong girl, homely and unin- 
teresting, and I was greatly complimented by 
the attention of so talented a man. One day 
he asked me to come to his office in the city. 


74 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 


I knew perfectly well that I ought not to go 
there but I went ; as soon as I was fairly in 
the room he turned the key in the lock and 
then for the first time I feared him. I had 
expected compliments and possibly caresses, 
but when he did that I was seized with inde- 
scribable terror, and I screamed with all my 
might. Roughly bidding me be still, he 
opened the door and I ran away. I have 
never spoken of it before, but the memory 
has always been with me, and with it a feel- 
ing of such shame and humiliation that I can- 
not keep it from you, although you may feel 
that you are offering more to me than I can 
give you.” 

“ Did you love this man ? ” he asked. 

“ Perhaps so,” she said, “ but I loathed 
him from that moment. I delighted in his 
music, I had fancied that he did not love his 
wife and found me more congenial. If I had 
thought him vile I should have hated him. 
I was too young to feel as a woman would. 
Of course you must be disappointed, but you 
may be glad to know that with all my 
woman’s heart I have loved and trusted you, 
and because I love you I tell you this. I 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 


175 


cannot tell you one-half the suffering it has 
caused me. Can you forgive me ? ” 

“ Forgive ?” he answered. “ There is 
nothing for me to forgive. Do you suppose 
I would spread my evil thoughts, my evil 
desires before you ? Can you forgive them ? 
And more, can you forgive me that they have 
caused me no sorrow ? Can you forgive me 
the stupid arrogance, the Pharasrical boast- 
ing ? I had not done evil and proudly 
thanked God I was not like other men. That 
I had allowed, yes, often invited evil desires, 
did not disturb me. I am not worthy to 
touch the hem of your garment, but I love 
you, I love you with all of me. Will you come 
to me ? ” She quietly put her hands in his, 
and the glory of Heaven shone round about 
them, and the peace which passeth under- 
standing came upon them, and it was to them 
as if in all the world they only were. 

In a little while Grace came running to 
them with Will exclaiming, “ Well, have you 
reached that blissful state where you take no 
count of time ? We have been clear home 
and your mother sent us for you ; then sud- 
denly placing a hand on either head and per- 


1 76 A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 

fectly imitating Mrs. Stone’s voice and man- 
ner, she said, “ Bless you, Oh, my children.” 
And they arose and went home. 

The next morning Miss Andrews was 
not at breakfast, but Mr. Graham was, and 
smilingly greeted Mrs. Stone and her guests 
as they came into the dining room. 

Eleanor was greatly troubled when they 
told her Miss Andrews had been called home. 
It hurt her that she had gone without say- 
ing good-bye. It troubled her lest she had 
seemed unkind. Two weeks passed and 
from Mr. Graham’s continued cheerfulness, 
Eleanor decided that after all she had done 
no good and no harm. On the 17th, the 
morning boat brought her a letter. The lit- 
tle cramped hand was entirely new to her 
and she wondered whom it could be from. 
She liked to hold such letters in her hand 
and tell if possible, whence they came and 
what was in them. She tried it with this and 
she knew it was from Miss Andrews. It 
read : 

My dear young Friend : — 

I am afraid you are troubled lest you have 
grieved me. I cannot say your words did not cause 
me grief. I had felt myself, when I first met Mr 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 


1 77 


Graham, that he was not a good man, but I put such 
thoughts from me. It seemed presumptious and 
wicked in me to doubt one of God’s chosen ministers. 
For years I have enshrined in my heart an ideal man, 
and when Mr. Graham spoke of love to me I clothed 
my ideal in his image. After he left your cottage 
in great anger and with great violence, he showed 
me that your picture of his character was true. He 
finally told me all the story, and though he did not 
say so, I learned it was not poor foolish me he 
wanted but my fortune. I waited to write to you till I 
could carry out a plan I made that night. I have the 
“ gentle, trusting girl ” with me. She is very poor. 
She loves the man who deceived her, and would 
desert her, with all her heart. I shall give her enough 
of my own fortune to satisfy him, and he has promised 
in a few weeks to marry her. He is not worthy any 
good woman, but she forgives him, and, indeed, in 
the sight of God and the angels he is already her hus- 
band. 

Your grateful friend, 

Augusta Andrews. 

Eleanor showed this letter to Mrs. 
Stone. She knew she would not talk about 
it. She wanted Professor Tyler to see it. 
She knew he felt a certain contempt for her 
peculiar power, and she was not sure he did 
not suspect her of malicious slandering. If 
he could see the letter he would believe in 
her ability to do what she claimed, and then 
she felt such pride in Miss Andrews. She 
wanted him to see what a noble, unselfish, 


1 78 A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 


beautiful woman she was. She was thankful 
for such women. The world was so full of 
selfish, plotting women ; they so often made 
her ashamed, and they were everywhere ; 
but the quiet, really noble ones were so sel- 
dom known. 

She had been with the Professor the 
greater part of every day since he came. 
There were sailing parties, whist parties, and 
hops. Grace aud Will were the only ones 
of their party who patronized the hops. 
George and Jennie knew every secluded spot 
on the island, they loved the “ Lover’s Lane,” 
with its closely shaded roof and mossy carpet 
but there was, to them no spot quite like 
the bare rocks near the water’s edge on the 
south shore, and they spent many hours 
there “watching the breakers,” they said. 
Eleanor liked to sail and she liked whist, the 
Professor enjoyed both so they were fre- 
quently together. She liked to hear him 
talk. It was so evident that he always knew 
whereof he spoke. She had learned many of 
his pet theories, most of them were hers also. 
She had learned his contempt for anything 
supernatural or unexplainable and it hurt her 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 


179 


to feel that he did not trust her. She told 
herself a great many times “ that it did not 
matter in the least,” yet she found herself 
very often trying to think of some way to 
make him admit the truth of what he looked 
upon as falsehood and trickery. After din- 
ner she took her letter and portfolio to the 
east shore to write. There was a comfortable, 
grassy seat under a small tree that she called 
hers. Very few people came there, there 
was nothing to distract her attention. The 
people and the breakers on the south shore 
disturbed her, the main land was too near on 
the west, the north and east were most 
delightful to her, particularly the east ; the 
whole broad ocean before her, the small spot 
of sandy beach in front of her, and the quiet 
swish of the waves alone breaking the silence. 

She had not begun writing when she 
heard footsteps and looking up she saw Pro- 
fessor Tyler approaching. 

“They told me that you were here,” he 
said. “ I have brought my book, we need 
not disturb each other.” 

She wondered why he came, it was evi- 
dently to find her. The thought made her glad. 


i8o 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 


“ Please read this first,” she said, as she 
handed him Miss Andrew’s letter. 

He read it through carefully, and return- 
ing it said, “Fine woman, isn’t she ?” 

“ Yes,” she answered, and added : “ Why 
do you not admit that there are some things 
under the sun that are true that you cannot 
explain ? ” 

“ Oh,” he replied, “I admit it, there are 
many things I cannot explain, but somebody 
can. Can anybody explain this that you ask 
me to believe ? ” 

“ I have never heard it explained,” she 
said, “but I know it is true. I should think 
you would know it now.” 

“ Well,” answered the Professor, “ what 
am I to believe, is it clairvoyance, spiritualism, 
mind reading or hypnotism ? What is it you 
do ? Tell me that, and then I can more 
readily decide whether I believe it or not.” 

“I have told you what I do,” she 
answered, “ and all that I do you have seen 
me do it, and now this letter proves that what 
I saw was true. How I do it I cannot tell. 
I know, there is never anything malicious or 
false in it. I hate a lie above everything. 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE StORtf. l8l 

I could not lie to myself. The saddest ex- 
perience of my life came to me because of an 
untruth. I could not deceive in anything, 
myself least of all.” 

He thought instantly of his false posi- 
tion. It had seemed so trifling at first, now 
it assumed great proportions and his great 
desire was to justify it. 

“ Could you forgive a harmless sort of 
deceit ? ” he asked. “ One used to accom- 
plish something good, desirable ? ” 

“ No deceit can be harmless,” she 
answered, “and I am not a believer in the 
theory of ‘ doing evil that good may come.* 
Indeed a good man cannot deceive. He that 
* speaketh the truth in his heart * cannot lie.” 

“ You use strong words,” he replied. 
“ No honest man would lie, but he might 
consent to deceive when no one could be hurt 
by it.” 

“ He would be hurt,” she answered. 

He wanted to tell her then, it was such 
a simple, silly thing, why need he hesitate ? 
But he had a feeling that if he should 
she would shut herself to him from that 
time. Not because he was not married and 


1 82 A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORV. 

she had made that foolish resolution, but 
because she would feel he was not trust- 
worthy. He knew he was and he wanted this 
girl to know it too. He did not like her 
mind reading performances, it seemed un- 
canny. He did not like to connect anything 
of the kind with her. He knew she was the 
most beautiful woman he had ever seen and 
one of the brightest and best informed. She 
was honest too in everything, and she 
charmed him withal as he had never been 
charmed before. His bachelor quarters that 
he had thought so pleasant, seemed bare and 
miserable as he thought of going back to them. 
What would it be to have a home and this 
girl in it. How his heart beat, and how 
proud and blessed the mere thought made 
him feel ! He smiled in such a bright, glad 
way that Eleanor noticed it. 

“ Why do you laugh ? ” she asked. 

“ I was thinking of you,” he answered. 

“ Thank you,” replied Eleanor. “I am 
not often laughed at ; at least if I am I don’t 
know it.” 

“ Oh, I meant no harm,” said he. " It 
was not ridicule, it was only joy.” 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 1 83 

Eleanor made no answer, she opened 
her portfolio and began her letter. The 
Professor opened his book and tried to read. 
He had brought “ Macaulay’s Essays.” He 
read them over and over and always with 
delight. He was reading now the essay on 
Milton, and his eye fell upon this sentence, 
“ He who in an enlightened and literary age, 
aspires to be a great poet must become as a 
little child.” It reminded him of another 
book where it is said of the Master, “ He set a 
little child in their midst.” To receive great 
and beautiful messages one must become as 
a little child, he thought. Yes, and for poe- 
try and Christianity one would be willing, but 
for this useless and more than useless busi- 
ness — ugh ! and he shrugged his shoulders. 

It occurred to him that his attitude in 
regard to Christianity had not been at all 
child like in late years, indeed he had come 
to doubt the whole story. He had not while 
his mother lived. Her clear, logical mind 
and her pure, child-like faith had always kept 
him free of doubt. “ If she had only lived ! 
he thought. If she were only here she 
would help him out of this strange predica- 


1 84 A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORlf. 

ment in which he found himself. She had 
helped him in everything hard for twenty- 
five years. How bare, empty and soulless 
the five years just past without her seemed. 
How she would enjoy this girl ! She would 
make her trust him, his mother, who knew 
him best of all and loved him best ! ” He 
felt the tears in his eyes, he bent his face 
closer over his book, but he did not read. 

Eleanor leaned her head against the 
tree and looked out at the ocean. There was 
so much she wanted to say to Miss Andrews. 
She meant to ask her to visit her in the winter, 
and she had fairly reveled in her plans for her 
enjoyment, but she could not write. “ What 
was the matter? Why did she care” she 
asked herself, ‘‘whether this man believed in 
her or not ? She might meet his wife some- 
day, she would convince her. Women were 
not so egotistical. His wife ” — she so sel- 
dom thought of him as married ; “ it was 
likely because he never spoke of it. Per- 
haps he was not happy.” Then she remem- 
bered his smile when he said he hoped his 
wife would come. There was something 
wrong. Well, what matter if there was. 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 185 

How was she concerned, and what need she 
care ? She pitied herself, for some unac- 
couutable reason her heart ached, she felt 
the tears come and she bent closer over her 
paper, pencil in hand, but she did not write. 

Suddenly, from the thicket behind them, 
came Grace’s clear, sweet voice as she sang : 
“ She’s my sweetheart, I’m her beau.” Then 
appearing, she struck a most tragic attitude, 
exclaiming, “ My Lady, the dinner waits ! ” 
And catching her gay, joyous spirit, they 
laughingly followed her to the dining room. 

When they entered they were surprised 
to see a strange gentleman at their table. 
As they approached he arose, and when Pro- 
fessor Tyler saw his face he hastened to him 
exclaiming : 

“ Why, Spencer, where did you come 
from ? ” and introducing him as one of his 
colleagues in the college faculty, took his seat. 

“ Where is Mrs. Spencer ? ” the profes- 
sor asked. 

“ At Old Orchard,” Mr. Spencer replied, 
with the children. I came up on an excur- 
sion for only an hour or so. When do you 
go back ? ” 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 


1 86 


“ I shall leave here about the ioth, I 
think,” Professor Tyler answered. 

“ Why, that’s late,” said his friend. 
u But then we have to be there early on 
account of the children’s school and to get the 
house ready. You jolly bachelors need only 
be there in time for the college opening.” 
What a sudden change in everybody’s face ! 
Mr. Spencer could not understand it, “ unless 
Tyler was married,” he thought, “ which is 
not likely.” 

Mrs. Stone fairly trembled, her agita- 
tion was so great. Grace, at his elbow, 
giggled outright ; Jennie’s whole face was an 
interrogation mark, Eleanor’s was colorless 
and Professor Tyler’s crimson. Evidently he 
had put his foot in it, but in what ! If he 
asked he would likely make a bad matter 
worse so he kept still, and for a few minutes 
they ate in silence. Then Mrs. Stone 
recovered herself and introduced some com- 
mon place topic, and the conversation was 
laggingly kept up till the meal was finished. 

As they left the table, Professor Tyler 
said to Eleanor, “ Don’t be too severe in 
your accusations and don’t pass sentence 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 1 87 

upon me until I have had a chanceito make 
my plea.” 

“ No,” Eleanor answered, and left the 
room. How she wanted to be alone. But 
she would not. “ No,” she said to herself, 
“ No one should know that all this affected 
her in the least. She would take her em- 
broidery and sit on the cottage porch and 
talk silly nonsense to the chance visitor or 
hear her part in this stupid business discussed. 

On her way she passed a cottage where 
people were planning an entertainment of 
dialogues and tableaux to be given to pay for 
some island improvements, they asked her to 
come in and help them. She did and was 
there an hour. When she reached Mrs. 
Stone’s cottage no one was down stairs and 
Mrs. Stone called to her from her room say- 
ing : “ Jennie and George are walking, 
Grace and Will are off with a sailing party 
and I have come to my room to try and 
sleep off a raging headache. Please excuse 
me to everybody.” 

" I will shut up the house and finish my 
letters,” replied Eleanor. She took her port- 
folio and hurried to her seat on the east 


1 88 A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STOfcY. 

shore. She carefully wrote her letters, five 
of them, . then she lay down on the grass 
and indulged her bitter thoughts with- 
out interruption. They had all entered 
into this silly conspiracy, she supposed, to 
thwart her in her foolish resolve. How per- 
fectly ridiculous it all was and she the center 
of the ludicrous picture ! How she hated to 
be ridiculous. She thought of her vehement 
denunciation of all deceivers. It was true, 
she meant it every word. She hated hypro- 
crites, but then Professor Tyler was not a 
hypocrite. He was an honest man, she 
knew it. Why had he consented to play 
leading man in this farce where she uncon- 
sciously had been the leading lady ? She 
did not know. It was funny and if it ended 
as his eyes told her this noon he would like 
to have it, then the comedy would be com- 
plete. No ; she could not bear that ! If he 
cared, he could wait. No one here, not even 
he would think for a moment that she cared, 
at least she would be spared that humiliation. 
After all, when all this was forgotten, per- 
haps — and she drew for herself such an en- 
chanting picture of what might be, that it 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 1 89 

comforted and quieted her and she slept. 

There was not wind enough to sail and 
Grace had followed her and at a safe distance 
watched her. She saw the industrious writ- 
ing, the unhappy struggle and the final smil- 
ing victory. She let her sleep a little while 
and then came forward and looked at her 
When Eleanor opened her eyes, Grace assum- 
ing the face and air of a street urchin sang : 
“ And he winked the other eye, and he 
winked the other eye.” 

“ Oh, Grace,” said Eleanor, *• don’t. 
That is vulgar.” 

“ Oh, forgive me, Gracious Lady ! ” she 
cried, and holding her hands over her head, 
she danced a most bewitching dance, sing- 
ing, “ The flowers that bloom in the spring,” 
the words being her own, and appropriate. 
Eleanor could not help admiring the pretty, 
graceful girl and she let her finish before she 
spoke. 

“ So you all connived against me,” she 
began. 

“ Oh, no,” protested Grace. “ No one 
knew but Mrs. Stone. I decided some days 
ago that there was no Mrs. Tyler, but I did 


190 A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 

not speak of it. I had planned to have you 
read his history, it would have been rather 
more tragical than the way it was told.’* 
Then placing her hands on her heart and 
assuming a most love-sick expression, she 
exclaimed, “ Oh, you dignified man-hater, you 
have it, and Jennie, the supremely indiffer- 
ent, she has it ! while I, who was to have 
been in love full twenty times at least, I 
haven't a sympton, not one ! ” 

“ Don’t be too hasty in your conclu- 
sions,” said Eleanor. " You might make a 
mistake.” 

“ Oh,” said Grace, drawing her face to 
its greatest length and imitating Mr. Graham’s 
most sanctimonious tone, “ don’t deceive 
yourself, my dear young friend, and don’t for 
a moment imagine that you have deceived 
anybody else.” Then seeing Will on the 
walk she ran off singing, “ Daisy, Daisy, give 
me your promise true.” 

So everybody knows everything, thought 
Eleanor. I could cry from pure vexation, 
and as she was about to realize this possi- 
bility, she heard steps behind her and look- 
ing up she met the tender, questioning eyes 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. I9I 

of Professor Tyler. Her face must have 
answered satisfactorily, for he immediately 
sat down by her and, putting his arm about 
her said : 

“ My right there is none to dispute. 
You must be greatly vexed and annoyed, 
dear ; I have been thinking hard since dinner. 
I see a happy ending of it all. I went over 
to Boothbay with Spencer and I met an old- 
class-mate there ; his name is Bronson. He 
is a clergyman. The Kennebec touches 
Boothbay at four o’clock tomorrow morning 
on its excursion trip to Bar Harbor. Bron- 
son has two staterooms, but his mother is not 
going, so he will need only one. Will you 
go to the south shore with me tonight at mid- 
night, when everybody is asleep and the 
moon is up and let Bronson make you my 
wife ? We will ask Mrs. Stone and the girls, 
and George and Will. I have never thought 
the display and publicity of a large wedding 
fitting.” 

“ But my father and mother,” said 
Eleanor. 

“ They will not be back for a year you 
said. You will not ask me to wait a year.” 


192 


A SQUIRREL ISLAND LOVE STORY. 


“ I have accepted Mrs. Stone’s invita- 
tion for the whole season and my Aunt who 
is keeping our house expects me then.” 

“ I will make it right with Mrs. Stone, 
and together we will appease your Aunt. 
Bronson and I came over in a little steam 
yacht, we will go back and make the neces- 
sary arrangements. After our wedding we 
will go to Boothbay in this yacht and then 
take the Kennebec for Bar Harbor, or any- 
where, it matters not, so we are together.” 

“ But we know so little of each other.” 

“ Here is my hand, read my story for 
yourself ; I can wait for yours.” 

“ It is not necessary, though I am glad 
you think I can.” 

“ I have been converted, I suppose, in 
the last few hours, with ‘child like trust,’ I 
am willing to accept whatsoever is of good 
report, even though why it is, is not clear to 
me. But I must not wait. Shall we go to 
Boothbay ? ” 

“ Yes,” she answered. 


Mrs. Weir’s Case. 

RS. Weir was a district visi- 
tor for the F. C. T. O., 
which being interpreted, 
means Female Christian 
and Temperance Organiza- 
tion. She was one of 
those fortunate women who are never mis- 
taken and whose worldly possessions are the 
best in the market. Whatever Mrs. Weir 
did by her own confession was promptly, 
thoroughly and satisfactorily done. And yet 
although she did boast and bustle, her heart 
was kind and she was a valued member of the 
F. C. T. O. Her cases were, of course, diffi- 
cult and interesting. 

On this particular morning Mrs. Weir 
had started out to visit the many bargain 
counters in response to alluring advertise- 
ments offering a great deal for nothing. She 
m 



194 


MRS. WEIR’S CASE. 


reached the street car just as it came to the 
corner. Her emphatic gesticulations, which 
said as plainly as words, “ Stop that car this 
moment or I will report you,” caused such 
violent and unexpected manipulations on the 
part of themotorman that every strapholding 
passenger was precipitated upon his neighbor 
and a little boy was thrown headlong upon 
the floor. The inmates had not recovered 
their normal positions when Mrs. Weir 
entered the car. A man was lifting the boy 
into his lap, Mrs. Weir noticed that he did 
it tenderly and that the boy was pale and 
thin, and everything he wore, from the cap 
on his head to the shoes on his feet, was 
patched with many-colored pieces, a case for 
C. she thought, wondering if the man was his 
father, and a case for T. 

When she looked at him closely he 
turned “ toward her and noticing her stand 
ing, offered his seat. Mrs. Weir refused it, 
saying she could not hold the boy. She 
carefully studied the man’s face. There 
were no marks of intemperance there, nor of 
great poverty. To be sure, his clothes were 
threadbare and he wore about his neck a 


MRS. WEIR’S CASE. 


195 


square of cotton cloth, either to protect his 
throat or to hide the lack of collar and shirt. 
His hair was as white as snow, but his face 
was comparatively young. There were deep 
lines showing great suffering, but just now 
the look of kind interest overshadowed these. 
It was altogether a pleasing and an interesting 
face, and as Mrs. Weir looked upon it her 
heart was filled with sympathy and a desire 
to help. 

He bent over the boy and spoke to him, 
but so low she could not hear what he said ; 
although she heard distinctly the boy’s 
answer : 

“ Oh, nowheres,” he said, “I just ride 
on the cars ’cause they’re warm. I’m too 
little to have to pay. I go with the kind con- 
ductors. One pushed me off, but this one 
always lets me go.” 

Mrs. Weir surprised the conductor by 
smiling kindly into his face, as he collected a 
fare near her, and the world took on a 
brighter look for him for the entire day. 

Again the man spoke and the boy 
answered : 

“ No, Old Molly lets me stay with her. 


196 


MRS. WEIR’S CASE. 


She promised mother she would, and I pay 
her half of all I make ; Jake hasn’t had any 
work for a long time and there are six kids.” 
(Mrs. Weir determined to find Old Molly, 
thinking she was manifestly a case for C.) 

“ What does Molly do ? ” she heard the 
man ask. 

“ She washes,” the child answered, “ but 
most of the people do their own, now the 
times are so hard.” * * * “ Eight.” 

* * * “ Oh, when I get some good clothes 

I am going to school and then to college, and 
after I get a good place I am to tell some- 
body. I have the name sewed in a little bag, 
and if I die they are to write to them.” * * 

“I run errands, and when my back 
doesn’t hurt so I can’t, I carry up coal, I 
sometimes earn twenty cents in one day.” 

A vacant seat allowed Mrs. Weir to sit 
by them, and then she heard what the man 
said : 

“ Wonld you like to live with me ? I 
can teach you everything necessary for col- 
lege, if we cannot get books. I can remem- 
ber, and then this poor back can rest,” and 
he stroked gently the boy’s curved spine. 


MRS. WEIR’S CASE. 


197 


“That would be out of sight,” the boy 
replied, “ but have you room for me ? 
Wouldn’t I be a great bother ? You talk 
like my mother. She said I musn’t talk like 
the alley folks. They don’t like it, but it’s 
best to mind your mother when she’s dead. 
It’s terrible, I mean it’s very hard not to say 
swear words. Most everybody does you 
know, and Jake explained to me that it very 
often keeps a man from hitting.” 

The man signaled the conductor, and 
Mrs. Weir followed him out of the car into a 
building of offices. She waited with an 
acquaintance till the man and boy came out. 
Upon inquiry, she found the gentleman, they 
had visited knew nothing about them. 

“Some broken-down preacher, I reckon,” 
he said. “I had advertised for someone to 
do some copying and he applied. I had hired 
a girl just a few moments before.” 

Mrs. Weir went away disappointed, but 
resolved to put the boy into the Children’s 
Home and to thoroughly investigate them an. 

Nothing, however, could cool her ardor, 
when kindled by prospective bargains. Her 
house was “ furnished,” “ kept up ” and car- 


198 


MRS. WEIR’S CASE. 


ried on" by successful visits to bargain 
counters. When Mr. Weir heard her tell 
some envious neighbor how all their finery 
cost next to nothing, he wondered where the 
money went and realized how greatly his 
value would be increased if his wife had 
picked him up on a bargain counter. 

Nearly a fortnight passed before Mrs. 
Weir had succeeded in utilizing satisfactorily 
that morning’s purchases. Then her thoughts 
turned to the gentlemanly man and the crip- 
pled boy. “ The kind conductor ” told her 
where the “old gentleman” usually took the 
car. When she reached the street she 
was surprise to find it so decent. The 
street was not paved and there were no 
sidewalks, but the houses were isolated and 
looked clean and comfortable. She stopped 
at the first house. The woman who re- 
sponded to her knock and question said : 

“Yes, I know him, but you can’t touch 
him with a ten-foot pole.” 

“ Why, isn’t he poor ? ” Mrs. Weir 
asked, while visions of an eccentrc or miserly 
rich man flitted through her mind. 

“ Yes, he’s poor enough, and he’s kind, 


MRS. WEIR’S CASE. 


199 


too ; he just took a poor hunchbacked boy to 
bring up, and his landlord would have brought 
him down a peg or two if the neighbors had 
insisted, and we would have insisted if it 
hadn’t been for the kid. He’s spent every 
cent he had fixing up warm and pretty for 
that boy. I guess he’ll have a good time 
taking care of him, he can’t get a blessed 
thing to do ; nobody’ll have him around.” 

“ Do you think he is a bad man ? ” Mrs. 
Weir asked. "lama district visitor of the 
F. C. T. O. It’s my duty to find out, and 
you may tell me just exactly what you think.” 

“ Huh,” the woman grunted, “ I haint 
nothing to tell, and I haint no use for them 
that goes prying about on poor folks with a 
dollar and a half for an excuse. If them let- 
ters wants to help poor people, why don’t 
they do it and ask no questions and hear no 
lies ? ” 

“ Oh,” Mrs. Weir answered, “ we are 
only allowed to help the worthy poor.” 

“Well,” the woman said, “the Lord 
wasn’t so mighty particular. I don’t recol- 
lect him mentioning the worthy poor. If you 
want to find out about Mr. Spencer, just go 


200 


MRS. WEIR’S CASE. 


and ask him, and I wish you joy in the busi- 
ness.” 

Mrs. Weir shut the door, then remem- 
bering her failure to learn where the man 
lived, opened it. “ Where does he live ? ” 
she asked. 

“ He lives,” the woman answered, in 
sharp, pointed words, “ in the cowshed 
behind 753.” 

Mrs. Weir walked rapidly away. She 
was annoyed, perhaps angry. She was 
accustomed to respectful gratitude on the 
part of her cases. To be sure this woman 
was not a case and there was some cause for 
her criticism. Mrs. Weir had always felt the 
“ investigating ” part of her district work 
disagreeable, but the woman might at least 
have been civil. By the time Mrs. Weir had 
reached 753 she felt out of patience with 
everybody in the neighborhood. She noticed 
the building was dot a cowshed : it had a 
chimney and windows and a narrow door ; it 
was likely a shop built for a cobbler or a tin- 
ker of some kind. She rapped impatiently. 
There was a moment’s waiting and then the 
gentlemanly man opened the door. 


MRS. WEIR’S CASE. 


201 

“ Will you walk in ? ” he said politely, 
and Mrs. Weir walked in. She was not pre- 
pared for what met her vision and she 
showed her surprise. 

“ Will you be seated ? " he said, offering 
the only chair in the strange room. Its ceil- 
ing and walls were covered with odd pieces of 
cotton cloth in bright, harmonious colors. 
The floor was clean and the little stove was 
black. Corner closets and shelves were hid- 
den by bright cotton curtains, often made of 
small, neatly sewed pieces. 

The beds were broad shelves with the 
same pretty coverings. There was nothing 
visible in the room except the chair and stove, 
that was not the work of some pain-staking 
amateur, unless it was a photograph of two 
smiling young people leaning over a little 
shelf table where the crippled boy sat writing. 

“ Why, this is pretty ! ” Mrs. Weir 
remarked and then turning to the man who sat 
on a stool by the boy, continued : “ I am a 
visitor of the F. C. T. O. and you are in my 
district, No. 27, I am here to make inquiries 
concerning this child and to arrange to take 
him to our children’s home." 


202 


MRS. WEIR’S CASE. 


The boy looked up into the face of the 
man, a frightened, pleading look, who laid 
his hand gently upon his shoulder and turn- 
ing to Mrs. Weir, said : 

“Yes?” 

“ I don’t know anything about you,” 
Mrs. Weir continued, “ nor about this child, 
but if ,he is of honest parentage and poor 
there will be no trouble in getting him in.” 

“Why,” the man asked, “do you wish 
to put him in the home ? ” 

“That he may be taken care of in a 
Christian home, where he will be taught a 
trade and be made capable of supporting him- 
self in some honest way.” 

“ Don’t let her take me ! ” she heard the 
boy whisper to his companion. 

The effect of the uncivil woman’s rude- 
ness still ruffled her and she said, a little 
sharply : “I am sure there is nothing in 
me to fear and the child, of course, does not 
know what is best for him. If you will give 
me his age and the names of his parents I 
will go no now and make arrangements. 
Tomorrow I will come and relieve you of 
the care of a stranger.” 


MRS. WEIR’S CASE. 


203 


The man’s face worked painfully. He 
laid his hand on the boy’s head and stroked 
it gently. The little fellow cried softly, but 
said nothing. 

“ Here,” the man said, handing her the 
picture of the happy young couple. “Here 
are his father and mother.” After a mo- 
ment’s pause, he continued, “ I appreciate 
your motives, and perhaps your plan would 
be best for him.” 

“I am sure it would,” she interrupted. 

“ But,” he continued, “ if you have time 
to listen to a story I will tell you, you may 
feel that after all his place is here. 
About twenty-five years ago a young man 
graduated from college and went home to 
find his father sick aud his mother worn out 
with care and anxiety. In a few weeks they 
died, and the young man was left with noth- 
ing save a blessed memory and a sure con- 
sciousness that privations endured for the 
sake of his education had hastened their 
death. He immediately went to work to pay 
all they owed. This he accomplished in a 
few years. 

“ During those years, he met, loved and 


MRS. WEIR’S CASfi. 


2o4 

won a beautiful girl — beautiful in form, face 
and character. She was way above him 
socially, but she loved him. When the debts 
were paid, they were married, but without 
her parents’ consent and with their expressed 
wish that they might never look upon her 
face again. He took her to a little house in 
an obscure street. They were happy there — 
unspeakably happy. 

“ On their wedding day, the young man 
resolved to place his wife as high, socially, 
as money could, for he knew then that she 
would no longer be denied the companionship 
of father, mother and sisters. This desire 
grew daily until it mastered all others. The 
young man was capable and industrious and 
he soon held places of responsibility and trust. 

“In a few years he was made trustee 
without bond for the minor heirs of a large 
estate, and the will provided for the invest- 
ment of a large amount of money. 

“ Then men, influential, prosperous men, 
whom he had long regarded with envious 
reverence, came to him, urging the invest- 
ment of this money in a way unlawful, but 
one that promised sure, speedy and great 


MRS. WEIR’S CASE. 


205 


returns. ‘He would be rich,' they said, 
‘ before his next report was due, he could 
reinvest as the will ordered. No one would 
ever know; and, even if they should, his 
ability to double the interest would make it 
all right.’ The schemes failed. The young 
man was arrested, tried, convicted, sen- 
tenced and taken to the penitentiary. 

“His wife left the place where she had 
always lived and found work and a home 
among strangers. She wrote hopeful, encour- 
aging letters and made him feel that life for 
her was comfortable and happy except for 
thoughts of him. 

“ In a few months a child was born to 
them. Then they decided that there should 
be no more visits to the prison, and after the 
child was old enough to question, no more 
letters. A new name was chosen for her. 
It should be theirs after awhile. When the 
day of release should come, they would 
meet in a certain place and life would begin 
anew. 

“ The man lived upon the picture of that 
meeting. It was his Bible, his play, his mu- 
sic, his everything that can comfort or delight. 


206 


MRS. WEIR’S CASE. 


“There were futile efforts for pardon, 
bringing hope and then despair. 

“ Finally the long years had gone. The 
man walked out into the blessed free air. 
He hurried to the place of meeting. When 
he came near his heart beat so fast he almost 
fainted. Once again he should look upon 
her face, he should feel her kiss upon his 
lips, for he knew, however he might appear 
to all the world, to her, who knew him best, 
he was not lost. 

“He reached the spot, a little bridge 
just outside the town. There was no one 
there. I am too early, he thought ; they 
were to meet at noon. Until night he sat 
upon the little bridge and waited. She did 
not come. Could she be sick ? No, a mes- 
senger would be there then. Could she 
have forgotten ? Had the years deadened 
her love and sent her back to them that 
hated him ? or was she dead and all hope 
gone from him forever. 

“ It is needless to tell of that night’s 
agony, of the days of searching and finding 
nothing, till finally upon the records of a 
potter’s field, one line met his eyes. There 


MRS. WEIR’S CASE. 


207 


was the new unfamiliar name, — aged thirty- 
five, exposure and want. That was all. 

“There was no other record. No clew 
could be found to make it certain that this 
was his Jeanette who lay in the potter’s field 
or that their child still lived. The man 
spent all his days and nights upon the poorest 
streets of the city, stopping every lonely 
child he met, but he did not find his own. In 
all the world there was not one face to look 
upon him kindly, trustfully. 

“ He took the old name again ; it was 
all of the happy past that was left to him 
now. He had a little money that he had 
earned in prison and received upon leaving. 
He resolved to buy a few feet in a cemetery, 
and lay his Jeanette there and then lie down 
by her side and die. 

“ He had not money enough, and he 
started out one morning in answer to an 
advertisement, hoping to earn more. On 
the way, in a crowded street car, a little crip- 
pled boy fell at his feet. 

“ This boy’s mother had been dead for 
more than a year. His father had gone away 
before he was born so far and in such a 


208 


MRS. WEIR’S CASE. 


place he could not write to him. 1 He was a 
brave, good, loving man,’ so the mother had 
said, ‘and some day he was coming back. 
Everything would be different then, and they 
would be, oh, so happy.' ” 

Some minutes before he had stopped 
speaking, he had bowed his head and covered 
his face with his hands. The little boy had 
risen and, standing by him, had put his arm 
caressingly and protectingly about his shoul- 
ders. He drew himself up as tall as he could 
and into the pinched sensitive face a look of 
determined defiance came. Turning to Mrs. 
Weir, he said : 

“ You see, I can’t go away. I shall 
take care of him till my father comes.” 

“ I hope you will,” said Mrs. Weir, ris- 
ing, “ and I hope you will learn to love him 
very much.” 

“ I don’t have to learn,” the boy an- 
swered. 


The First Meeting of a 
Browning Club. 

% 


Mrs. Barnes had not visited 
in Cincinnati, there would 
likely never have been a 
Browning club in Thorn- 
ville. She had accepted the 
itation of an old school friend 
whom she had not seen for years ; 
she had made most careful and elaborate 
preparations for that visit. Her gowns were 
all made in New York, for her friend was 
rich and fashionable. She was also intelli- 
gent. People said she was the leader of a 
large and cultivated circle ; so Mrs. Barnes 
had studied early and late. She had made 
herself quite familiar with current topics in 
politics — free trade, the Philippine troubles, 
bi-metalism, etc. She had studied advanced 



210 THE FIRST MEETING OF A BROWNINC CLUB. 

thought in religious matters till her own 
orthodox convictions trembled in the balance. 
She had studied theosophy, spiritualism, 
palmistry and all sorts of psychic wonders. 
She had even attended a course of lectures 
on Christian Science. 

With what joyous anticipations, with 
what placid complacency, she made the jour- 
ney to Cincinnati ! With what disappoint- 
ment, with what bitterness of soul she had 
made the journey home again ! She was 
warmly welcomed by her friend ; her gowns 
were becoming and stylish, but alas ! on one 
occasion only had she been able to listen with 
interest and to respond with intelligence. 
She had been to one dinner party where there 
were men, and although they had done most 
of the talking, she had spoken and been 
appreciated. The rest of her invitations — 
and they were of daily occurrence — were to 
ladies’ luncheons, high teas, and afternoon 
whist parties, and the one topic of conversa- 
tion was Robert Browning. 

There were ten ladies’ clubs in Cincin- 
nati, all studying Browning. Mrs. Barnes 
was profoundly ignorant of Browning’s poetry. 


THE FIRST MEETING OF A BROWNING CLUB. 21 1 


She had read but one poem, “ Evelyn Hope.” 
She thought it a sweet little poem, simply 
expressing an old man’s hope of meeting his 
girl sweetheart in heaven. When she ven- 
tured to mention it, she was immediately 
besieged with these questions, asked in the 
most appealing manner : 

“ Oh ! do you think he taught theosophy 
in that poem, the transmigration of souls, you 
know ; or do you consider him orthodox ? ” 
Mrs. Barnes did not know, and she was 
obliged to say so. 

She had now been at home two weeks. 
She had planned and organized a Browning 
club, to meet every Wednesday, and had 
secured Miss Wyncoop, a teacher in a young 
ladies’ seminary, as leader. There were 
thirty in the club : today they met for the 
first time. 

The most conspicuous person in the 
room was Mrs. Brister, a handsome, fascinat- 
ing woman, who was obsequiously polite to 
those in her own set when they were fixed 
there, and who snubbed unmercifully any- 
body outside of it. Mrs. Barnes was a leader 
in the set, hence Mrs. Brister was studying 


212 THE FIRST MEETING OF A BROWNING CLUB. 

Browning ; she had carefully read Corson and 
Mrs. Sunderland Orr, and although she had 
never read one of Browning’s poems, she felt 
quite ready to give her opinion if Miss Wyn- 
coop should ask for it. 

Near her was Mrs. Haines, a doctor’s 
wife ; she sat bolt upright in her chair with a 
determined look upon her face which said as 
plainly as words, “ Ask me anything ; I am 
prepared.” Almost hidden behind a por- 
tiere was Mrs. Calhoun, the wife of the rich- 
est man in town. She was a modest quiet 
little woman, who sang divinely. She was 
quite familiar with most of Browning’s read- 
able poetry, but she tried not to be seen, 
lest Miss Wyncoop should ask her something. 
Near her was Mrs. Snow, a minister’s wife ; 
she was quite prepared to vindicate Brown- 
ing’s theology, as her husband, the reverend 
doctor, had assured her he was the one of all 
England’s poets who srood up manfully and 
trumpet voiced-for the truth as taught in the 
gospel, She meant to use those very words 
if called upon. 

The wife of a professor mental philoso- 
phy, Mrs. Davis, was there. She had lately 


THE FIRST MEETING OF A BROWNING CLUB. 21 3 


copied for the tenth time, a treatise of the 
professor’s on the “ Immutability of the 
Reflective Powers.” Many of the sentences 
she knew by heart, and was prepared to give 
them if Browning’s ideas on mental philoso- 
phy were touched upon. Miss Snowdon, a 
pupil of Professor Davis’, was there ; she had 
questioned the Professor closely as to his 
opinion of Browning, and was prepared to 
state that, although he was by no means 
othordox in his religious teachings, his philoso- 
phy belonged to the old school and was 
unquestionably correct. 

Mrs. Kimball, a banker’s wife, was there. 
Mrs. Kimball was one of those happy indi- 
viduals whose every possession, from a grand- 
father to table linen, is the best the world 
affords. Mr. Kimball she accepted with due 
allowance, not being a member of her family. 
She had graduated from the best girls’ col- 
lege in America ; her servants, her children, 
her piano and her sewing machine were the 
best known, and her notes on Browning, 
taken from her own library, were of course, 
the best, and she smilingly awaited an oppor- 
tunity to quote them. 


214 THE FIRST MEETING OF A BROWNING CLUB. 

Mrs. Miller, a lawyer’s wife, was there ; 
she was very like the rest of the thirty — 
quiet, modest, intelligent and well bred. 
She had no disagreeable idiosyncrasies and 
no resounding accomplishments, so people 
seldom spoke of her. Her ancestors and her 
table linen were real, but she never called 
attention to the fact, and few noted it. She 
never snubbed anyone, so her attentions to a 
select few were not chronicled. She was a 
faithful friend, a good wife and a devoted 
mother. No one talked about Mrs. Miller, 
but many went to her in trouble or 
anxiety, sure of sympathy and if possible, of 
help. Mrs. Miller had no one’s theories of 
Browning to air. She had tried to read his 
poetry. In a few instances she was almost 
sure she knew what he meant, but being by 
no means certain, she had given up the chase. 
She was prepared to say she did not know, 
if questioned, and it did not distress her. 

The ladies, armed with pencils and note 
books, wore various expressions of independ- 
ence and fear, and all awaited quietly the 
teacher’s coming. Promptly at three o’clock 
Miss Wyncoop came in. 


THE FIRST MEETING OF A BROWNING CLUB. 21 5 

She was a large, homely woman, about 
thirty-five years old. Honesty and self-com- 
placency were unmistakably written upon 
her countenance. She had nothing to hide 
and no pity for anyone who had. She treas- 
ured no memories of stolen walks and talks 
in her school days. She could not even 
remember one admiring glance cast her way 
from the boy’s side in prayer meeting, 
though during prayers she had often seen 
them looking in other directions and had 
been greatly shocked thereby. Indeed, she 
had experienced many shocks of that kind ; 
but never of a personal nature. Miss Wyn- 
coop always honestly expressed her opinion 
on any topic, at any time, and in any place and 
her remarks carried evidence of such prepara- 
tion and conviction that all listeners accepted 
them as authorative. She greatly admired 
Robert Browning’s poetry. She liked it 
because it was hard to understand. She liked 
hard things. She never questioned the cor- 
rectness of a decision when once she had made 
it This characteristic made her especially 
adapted to lead a Brownning club, as a less 
confident person might often be in doubt. 


21 6 THE FIRST MEETING OF A BROWNING CLUB. 

She carne from an adjoining town and 
evidently was not prepared to see so stylish 
and intelligent an audience. At first she 
seemed abashed ; however she soon recovered, 
and requesting all to take careful notes, 
began her introduction : 

“ All men are either poets or they are 
not. What is a poet ? ” 

As she evidently paused for a reply, 
Mrs. Haines volunteered the information, 
that “a poet is a man who writes poetry.” 

“Very true,” Miss Wyncoop replied, 
“but please note this question. What is 
poetry ? ” 

Each lady had an indistinct recollection 
of a definite answer to this question, learned 
in rhetoric when at school, but not one could 
recall it. They all wrote industriously, sev- 
eral rewriting the question a half dozen times. 
Finally, as no one replied, Miss Wyncoop very 
considerately left the answer till the next 
meeting, remarking that “ until they knew 
what poetry was, they could by no means 
decide whether Browning was a poet or not.” 
She then requested each lady to find a satis- 
factory definition of poetry and to judge a 


THE FIRST MEETING OF A BROWNING CLUB. 217 


poem which she would name, by this defini- 
tion, so as to be able to decide whether it be 
poetry or not. She also requested them to 
note carefully all portrayals of sentiment or 
character, and decide if they were true to 
nature, thus being able to determine if they 
found the author to be a poet, whether he 
were true or not. She then read the poem 
selected for the next lesson, “ The Statue 
and the Bust.” Every lady in the room 
heard it for the first time, and every one was 
manifestly shocked. Mrs. Snow quietly 
folded her hands and said sotto voce : 

“ Such literature has been forbidden me 
from childchood. I hardly think I shall 
begin reading it now.” 

Mrs. Haines looked very stern, and 
calmly asked, “ Do you consider this a fit 
poem for ladies to discuss ?” 

Miss Wyncoop expressed great surprise 
that anyone should question the morality of 
the poem, and dwelt at length upon the cor- 
rectneas and beauty of its teaching, ending 
with the sentence : “ Doubtless not one of 

you, as you are happily married, can under- 
stand what it means, yet there can be no 


218 the first meeting of a browning club. 

doubt that any man or woman who does not 
love supremely, the one to whom he or she is 
wedded, especially if any other person is held 
in greater esteem, is in the sight of God and 
the angels, living in direct violation of the 
seventh commandment, and it would be 
infinitely better if the unloved wife or hus- 
band were abandoned for the loved one.” 

At this startling sentence there was a 
general uprising among the ladies, for what 
purpose no one could tell. Suddenly there 
was an unusual sound as of some one gasp- 
ing, and then a fall, and all eyes were turned 
toward the portiere where Mrs. Calhoun was 
sitting. It was soon apparent that she had 
fainted, and all rushed to her, Mrs. Haines 
remarking : “ It is the natural gas. The 
doctor has always said it was unhealthy — 
stifling.” 

Mrs. Davis exclaimed loudly and with 
evident satisfaction : “ It is electricity. She 
sat right under an electric lamp, and I’ve no 
doubt the current went right through her ! 
I have never allowed even a bell wire put up 
in my house, and I’m thankful for it ! ” 

Mrs. Miller had noticed a look in Mrs. 


THE FIRST MEETING OF A BROWNING CLUB. 21 9 


Calhoun’s face while Miss Wyncoop was 
speaking, and she knew it was neither nat- 
ural gas nor electricity that had caused the 
faintness. She quietly put her arm abont 
her and whispered : “ I saw your carriage at 
the door, shall I go with you ? ” 

Her grateful assent caused Mrs. Miller 
to hurry the leave taking and they were soon 
outside in the fresh afr and away from curi- 
ous eyes. 

“ Will you drive with me ? ” asked Mrs. 
Calhoun. “ It is still early. I have a story 
to tell you — my story — and when I am 
done it may be you will not care to be with 
me again.” 

Mrs. Miller nodded assent, with a sur- 
prised benumbing sensation, for her friend’s 
face told her it was no trivial tale she was to 
listen to. 

In a quiet voice, with her hands tightly 
clasped and her eyes looking away too far 
for Mrs. Miller to follow them, Mrs. Calhoun 
began : 

“ My parents died when I was ten years 
old. I went to live with an uncle, a good 
sort of man, but not rich, and without the 


220 THE FIRST MEETING OF A BROWNING CLUB. 

education and refinement my father, his 
brother, had. 

“ I was sent to school, and at sixteen I 
graduated. Of course it was not much of a 
school, but it gave me the happiest of lives. 
The principal, Mrs. Marlow, had a brother, 
an army officer, who was frequently there, 
and who from our first meeting delighted me. 
I wish I could describe him to you. Of 
course he was older than I ; he was strikingly 
handsome ; he was very quiet and dignified, 
a good musician, an unusual poet, and withal 
a thoroughly good man. I can hardly remem- 
ber when I did not love him, and I am sure 
he just as truly loved me. Before I gradu- 
ated he was ordered away. He bade me 
goodbye with all the others, but he said to 
me alone : * I shall come back soon, and I 
shall see you first of all.’ That was all. 
There was no love making, no promise, — 
only the assurance of my own heart to make 
me patient and trusting. 

“ Well, I went home to my uncle’s ; 
things were very bad there ; if I had ever had 
any money it was all gone. My uncle’s fam- 
ily was very large, and there was no place 


THE FIRST MEETING OF A BROWNING CLUB. 221 


for me. I had been a good scholar ; and yet, 
I had been fitted in nothing specially, so I 
could not teach. I tried to sing, and though 
my voice is sweet and quite well trained, it 
is not large enough for a church. I even 
tried clerking, but I could not bear it. I 
fainted twice after two hour’s stand behind 
the counter, and of course I was discharged. 

“ When I first came home my uncle 
introduced Mr. Calhoun to me, telling me 
beforehand that he was rich and very anxious 
to know me. I told him then there was no 
use in planning a wedding for me. Then he 
questioned me closely and learned some 
things about my hero, the principal’s brother, 
whom he knew to be poor and who he decided 
for himself was but playing with a little girl. 
This he unhesitatingly told me, and as I 
had no word from the Major, and he did 
not come back, by constant ridicule and posh 
tive assertions, my uncle made me first fear 
and finally feel sure that what he had said 
must be true. I scorned the idea of his 
playing with me ; there had been no love 
making, but I felt convinced that what my 
heart had given had not been paid back. 


222 THE FIRST MEETING OF A BROWNING CLUB. 

“For three years Mr. Calhoun waited. 
I tried to do many things and failed, and at 
last on my nineteenth birthday we were mar- 
ried. I was frank enough to tell him about 
my soldier friend, and though it humiliated 
me more than I can tell you, I told him how 
I loved him. He looked at the matter very 
lightly. ‘Just a little girl’s fancy,’ he said, 
and put it out of his mind forever. 

“You know Mr. Calhoun. You know 
he is a man fortunate in every way, and good, 
so people honor him, — he is, I can’t bear to 
say it, but I must to have you understand 
me, he is a good man and nothing more. 
He cares nothing for what is dearest to me. 
There is nothing in him for me but goodness, 
and even that is tiresome. And yet he loves 
me and he does not mistrust. 

“ Well, we were married ; we went on 
our wedding journey, and stopped in St* 
Louis. On the second day of our stay there 
Mr. Calhoun was obliged to be away at noon, 
and insisted upon sending my dinner to my 
room, tninking I would be timid about going 
to the dining room. But no, I thought I 
should enjoy it, as I should be alone several 


THE FIRST MEETING OF A BROWNING CLUB. 223 


hours. So he went. I dressed for dinner, 
and somehow there was ever present with me 
a feeling of exhiliaration, as if something 
enchanting was about to come to me. I went 
out into the hall to go down, had gone 
only a little way when I felt two arms about 
me, and the dearest voice in the world to me, 
whispered : ‘ At last Gertrude, I have found 
you, my darling.’ 

“It was my soldier, and just for a mo- 
ment I forgot all in the great joy. Then it 
came to me. I drew myself away from him, 
and told him the whole story, — my waiting, 
my despair, my marriage. He said he had 
written to me in my uncl’e care when he 
found he could not come, but his lettets 
had not been answered, and he had about 
decided that, after all, he had been mistaken 
in what he had thought he had read in my 
eyes. 

“ Well, we parted, — without words. 
He went his way ; I went mine. I went to 
my room ; I put on the gown that pleased my 
husband best ; and I met him with a smile, 
keeping still while he kissed me. I have 
done the same things every day for fifteen 


224 the first meeting of a browning club. 

years, but I have loved wholly and unre- 
servedly my hero. I have shut my eyes and 
imagined it was he when my husband has 
caressed me. My husband thinks my natute 
cold, but he does not dream that I am false. 
I have sacrificed everything heavenly, and I 
have done it all for him, — my husband. 

“ Tell me, am I in the sight of God and 
the angels an adulteress ? I have never 
thought for one moment that my life was any- 
thing it should not be. I loved him. I must 
love him ! I always know by the papers 
where he is and what he does, and I am sure 
his heart is mine alone. He has never mar- 
ried ; and yet I never see him ; I never have 
a word from him, but I love him and I always 
shall ! My hope of heaven is not first that I 
shall see Christ there, but first of all that he 
will be there and we shall know each other. If 
I thought not, if I believed there was that other 
place of torment, if he were there, I should 
choose that. Has all this been wrong ? 
Should I have forgotten my husband’s years 
of waiting, his love, and left him ? Should I 
have shocked my friends, society, the world, 
and led the way for others to walk in who are 


THE FIRST MEETING OF A RROWNING CLUB. 225 

fickle or unchaste ? Was that the course for 
me ? And is it all for naught, and worse ? 
Am I — am I that vilest of all creatures ? 

While Mrs. Calhoun was yet speaking 
the carriage stopped. They were at Mrs. 
Miller’s, and before she could answer the 
door was opened and she saw Mr. Calhoun’s 
anxious face as he said tenderly : “ They 

told me you were sick, Gertrude, and I came 
to meet you.” 

As Mrs. Miller left them, and he care- 
fully wrapped the robes about his wife, she 
felt no sympathy for him, but her heart over- 
flowed for the woman at his side who, kindly 
and without complaining, sacrificed herself 
for him. 



*CLEONES. 

% 



CLEONES lived in Xanthus, 
^ the capital of Lycia, and he 
% was sure there was, in the 
whole, wide world, no 
W place half so charming. 
Wherever he looked, there 
was something to make 
him glad. On one side, 
high mountains, green with the tall oaks, the 
graceful cypress and the bright arbutus. On 
the other, the swift river, with its cool 
shaded banks, winding through broad, fertile 
fields, green with grass, bright with flowers, 
or rich with grain. 

When he looked at the widely scattered 
houses and remembered that it had been a 
prosperous, populous city, he pitied its mis- 
fortunes and rejoiced in its bravery. He 
liked to hear the story of its greatness and 


*A story of the Fifth Century giving some of the teachings of Proclus 
and some of “ the wonders’’ he is said to have performed. 

226 


CLEONES. 


227 


its grandeur and how it had so often made 
peoples envious and covetous. His young 
heart glowed with pride when he heard how, 
nearly a thousand years before he was born, 
it had been twice destroyed and twice rebuilt. 
He liked to hear how, finally, just because it 
was magnificent, the Romans had wanted it 
and only five hundred years before they had 
come and laid waste its finest and most 
imposing buildings. He felt a sort of martyr- 
like pride in its struggles, and its ruins were 
to him an unending source of pleasure. 

Here had been a theatre, where the 
actors had played the plays written by 
.dEschylus, Sophocles and Euripides. His 
father often read to him from these plays 
and they were so different from those the 
strolling actors played in their little theatres 
now. He could not always understand what 
his father read, but he liked the sound of his 
voice and the stories of great battles he told 
in explanation. 

Here had been a temple. He talked 
low and stepped softly over these ruins, for 
great and wonderful things had been wrought 
in the temples. Here had been the tombs. 


228 


CLEONES. 


Tombs of poets, priests and philosophers, 
long avenues of wonderful marbles, now piles 
of broken stone. He felt angry and like 
fighting, whenever he passed them. Here 
the baths, the great bazaar and oh, so many 
handsome homes. But most wonderful of 
all was the high hill, which fell abruptly into 
the river, Xanthus’, Acropolis. 

This hill’s sides were perforated with 
rock-hewn tombs. Some, the most ancient, 
without ornamentation, others, wonderfully 
chiseled, showing pictures of noble deeds 
of the heroes whose ashes were there pre- 
served. These tombs told the story of con- 
quest over and over again. The brave 
Lychians were always few in number, daunt- 
less in courage, suffering death rather than 
submission. 

Cleones often wandered alone over these 
ruins, climbing the wall, picturing the tem- 
ples and the treasure vaults and living over 
again the story of the one great sacrifice ; 
when the men of Xanthus, knowing that 
they must submit, gathered all their treas- 
ures, wives, sweethearts, everything they 
prized most and shutting them inside these 


CLEONES. 


229 


walls, burned them to ashes, and then went 
out themselves to die, fighting. Cleones 
pictured the scenes of parting and of suffer- 
ing, and he felt only pride in his countrymen 
that they could do so brave a deed, for he 
had been taught that submission and slavery 
were worse than death. 

Cleones was sure that his own luxurious 
home was the happiest in the world, that his 
mother was the most beautiful of women 
and his father the wisest of men. He never 
tired of the story of their marriage, it was so 
unlike all others that he knew. His nurse, 
who had also been his mother’s, could always 
entertain him by telling it. 

“ Come, Cleones,” she would say, “ sit 
down by me and rest and I will tell you the 
story over again. It was only fifteen years 
ago, your mother was just sixteen years old. 
Her pretty yellow hair had just reached her 
waist. No other girl among all her friends 
had such beautiful hair. Some of them sent 
away and bought an ointment and put it on 
their heads and then sat long hours in the 
sun. Their hair grew light, but not like your 
mother’s and in a few weeks, it was faded at 


230 


CLEONES. 


the ends and half way up and black on top. 

“ One day your mother went to the 
river to bathe. She took me and four other 
slaves with her. We went to the same 
shaded place where you have been so often. 
The trees, you know, make a safe and secret 
place to dress in. After the bath, your 
mother was sitting in the sunshine, waiting 
for her hair to dry. One of the girls was 
twisting it round her finger and admiring the 
pretty color. Your mother’s dress was blue. 
Her white neck and arms were as perfect as 
if chiseled by some great artist. I stood look- 
ing and wondering at her beauty, and I was 
the first to hear the footsteps. Before we 
could move, your father, with one slave, old 
Manes, came out of the trees and, although 
he did not intend to be rude, he stopped and 
stood still and looked at your mother and I 
knew then that something had happened. 
It was if each had gazed on the face of some 
god that had filled their souls with adoration. 

“ Your father had been away at school 
for years but I knew his nurse, and I could 
tell who he was and I soon learned that he 
was asking about your mother. Every week, 


CLEONES. 


23I 

for months after that, your mother went to 
the same spot to bathe ; and every week your 
father came and just for a moment, they 
looked at each other. Your mother’s father 
was a great philosopher, who spent all his 
time in study, so your father immediately 
took great interest in philosophy and came 
to your grandfather for advice. Although 
your grandfather spent much time with your 
mother, for he had no sons, yet no Greek 
girl would meet a strange manat her father’s 
house, unless he came as her promised hus- 
band, and so they only saw each other at 
the riverside and spoke only with their eyes. 
When your father knew the philosopher 
valued him greatly, he sought his advice 
about a wife, as none had been provided for 
him. Your grandfather proposed several 
girls, but something was wrong with each of 
them. Finally your father said, * Have you 
no kinswoman that could be given to me?’ 
4 Yes,’ he answered, * I have a daughter, but 
her dowry is not large.’ ‘ That matters not,’ 
said Liones, ‘my father is dead and he had 
great possessions and I am his only child.’ 
Then her father called Nantelia in and the 


232 


CLEONES. 


young people acted as if they looked upon 
each other for the first time. And as long as 
your grandfather lived, he thought he had 
given Liones an unknown bride.” 

“ Tell me about the wedding, Penlia,” 
Cleones would say. 

“ It came in three weeks,” Penlia 
answered. “ Nantelia’s chests were already 
filled and her gown made, for no one knew 
when a husband might come. There was a 
solemn betrothal in the temple, a private 
one, as the public temples had long since 
been closed or destroyed. The gods were 
crowned with garlands, costly incense was 
burned all day and two doves were sacrificed 
Your father drank the wine and your mother 
stood near, closely vailed and bowed assent 
when the priest repeated the promises. We 
slaves were very busy re-packing the wed- 
ding chests, putting in sweet smelling leaves 
and renewing the citron and orange. At 
your father’s home, men and women were 
hard at work, night and day, cleaning and 
renovating. They furnished entirely anew 
the women’s apartments, for they had been 
long unused. 


CLEONES. 


233 


“ On the wedding day, we took your 
mother to the beautiful, never failing spring 
in the mountains to bathe. Boys carried to 
your father for his bath, vessels filled with 
water from the same spring. We used the 
choicest perfumes. Her mother put the 
wedding gown upon the bride. It was pure 
white silk. She fastened long pearl drops in 
her ears. She put upon her neck a beauti- 
ful gold necklace, upon her arms gold armlets, 
and through her hair, bandeaux of the same 
precious metal. She fastened her veil with 
a gold tiring-pin that she had worn at her 
own bridal. She wound the white thongs 
around her sandals, which she herself had 
beautifully embroidered. 

“ Your father came for her in a hand- 
some carriage, drawn by stately mules. His 
dress was of soft white wool, with a long 
white scarf over his shoulders. Your grand- 
mother gave him his bride and he seated 
her in the carriage between him and his 
friend Proclus. Then your grandmother 
lighted the wedding torch and carried it 
close by the god Hymen at the head of 
a procession of relatives and friends, and the 


234 


CLEONES; 


slaves of both families, that walked slowly 
to this house, your father’s. There were so 
many flute girls that the music could be 
heard miles, miles away. When we entered 
the house, we were showered with sweet- 
meats and coins. Then there was a great 
banquet, and all the slaves that served were 
given handsome presents, almost as beautiful 
as the bride’s. These were not given to her 
until the day after the wedding. A chorus 
of maidens sang the merry songs of 
Hymenaeos during the feast and until the 
bridal cakes were all eaten and the guests 
were gone. And to this day, your father has 
always loved your mother just so dearly and 
she is always with him, nnless he is busy or 
stranger’s are here.” 

“ Penlia,” Cleones would often say, “ I 
shall not go to Athens to study at Proclus’ 
school. I shall walk every day at the river 
side and watch for a beautiful maiden to love 
and make my wife.” 

“ Pooh, pooh, Cleones,” Penlia would 
answer, “ only wise men should have wives. 
You must study first and visit the river 
after.” 


CLEONES. 


235 


Chapter II. 

Cleone’s parents were proud to trace 
their families back to homes in Athens before 
the time of Pericles. They religiously pre- 
served the ancient customs, and their wedding 
had been, as nearly as they could make it, 
after the manner of Greek weddings of hun- 
dreds of years before. 

Their home was built like the houses 
of the same remote age, and, indeed, no one 
knew how old it was. There was before the 
street door, a pedestral for the god Apollo 
and just now the image of the god was 
there : but there had been times in the mem- 
ory of the oldest people when it had not 
been allowed and there were no pedestals 
before the modern houses. There was an 
inscription over the doorway whose few 
remaining letters had no meaning to the 
present owners. 

The home was built of huge blocks of 
stone and, unlike most of the house about it, 
there was but one story. Its length was 


236 


CLEONES. 


twice its breadth and it was divided in the 
center by two massive walls, separated by a 
narrow open space. Each half surrounded 
a court and every room in the square opened 
upon porches with large stone columns. In 
the front square were the men’s apartments. 
Offices, sitting, dining and sleeping rooms. 
A narrow hallway opposite the street door 
led to the square containing the women’s 
rooms, built exactly like the other, only there 
was no street door. Here were sitting, din- 
ing, weaving and sleeping rooms, with 
kitchens and store houses. In the little 
gardens or courts within the squares were 
the cultivated fruits and flowers, oranges, 
lemons, figs and pomegranates. The 
porches’ columns were wound with living 
myrtle vines, and beds of sweet violets 
everywhere perfumed the air. The rooms 
were furnished with beautiful Persian car- 
pets and hangings and the walls were painted 
in harmonious colors. The couches, settles 
and stools were covered with the same bright 
rugs and supplied with the softest cushions. 
In Cleones’ home, the women’s apartments 
were as handsome as the msn’s, and his 


CLEONES. 


237 


mother spent much of her time in his 
father’s rooms. 

Cleones was a handsome, thoughtful 
boy, serious beyond his years, probably 
because he was much with his father and 
mother and they were students. Although 
their friends were only among those whom 
they were pleased to call true Greeks, the 
believers in the teachings of the philosophers 
and in the powers of the gods, yet Cleones’ 
playmates were of his own choosing, and the 
mother of the one he liked best was a Christ- 
ian, converted by the teachings of a pious 
Pelagian monk, who, after his excommunica 
tion, had come to Lycia. 

Cleones’ parents had taught him gram- 
mar, arithmetic and rhetoric, and he could 
write very well in prose and verse in his own 
tongne and in Latin. As all birthdays, 
including those of grandparents for several 
generations, were celebrated, hardly a week 
passed without a birthday fete. Cleones’ 
came on the same day with a great-great- 
great grandfather, whose name he bore. 
And so, on that day, two garlands were put 
upon the image of Apollo, two wreaths upon 


238 


CLEONES. 


the altar in the little temple. Two goblets 
crowned with myrtle stood upon the table and 
the guests drank from them, first to the 
memory of the dead and then to the pros- 
perity of the living. These were very 
solemn days to Cleones. 

Sports came after the feast, but the 
story of this grandsire’s bravery and wisdom, 
though so often repeated, always impressed 
him greatly and filled him with hopes and 
ambition to be like him, wise and just and 
brave. On his last birthday, when he was 
only twelve years old, he had written some 
verses about this grandsire, and his father 
had recited them at the feast and they had 
been greatly praised. 

Cleones liked to study and he liked the 
gymnasium, especially the palaestra, where 
wrestling was taught. One day he had been 
practicing with some of the boys, running, 
shooting with the bow and throwing the 
javelin. But most of the time had been 
spent in the palaestra, where he had thrown 
every boy with whom he had wrestled. Of 
course this had made them envious and cross 
and the bath and rest had not cured them. 


CLEONES. 


239 


When they came away, their talk grew loud 
and disagreeable. Cleones left them and 
ran to his home. His slave tried to keep 
pace with him, but he was far behind when 
Cleones pounded on the door. “ Hurry, 
Manes, open for me/’ he cried. The old 
porter turned the key. “Why are you so 
noisy”, he said, “ I answer just as quickly to 
quiet calls.” Cleones hurried by. He ran 
around the first court and through the nar- 
row hallway to his mother’s rooms. He 
pushed aside the heavy rug that hung in the 
doorway. His mother was lying on a couch 
and a slave girl stood near, fanning her, 
while another held her embroidery. 

“ Oh, mother,” he cried, “ I shall never 
speak to Ctesiphon again. 

“ Why what is the matter, dear,” his 
mother asked, “ and aren’t you making rash 
promises ? ” 

“ Matter enough,” said Cleones, “ and 
you will think so too.” 

“ Tell me about it,” she said. 

“ I beat him at everything this morning, 
even the wrestling, and it made him angry 
and when we started home, he said he didn’t 


240 


CLEONES. 


care, he had no use for pagans any way, and 
if I should die to-day, my soul would be 
thrown into a burning lake and stay there 
forever, always burning and never burned up. 
He said he wouldn’t care, either. When I 
told him it was not so, he said wise men had 
taught it and wiser than my father and that 
he believed it, so he wouldn’t burn, but go 
straight to Paradise. Mother, why do we 
not believe as Ctesiphon’s mother does, and 
are you not afraid of the burning lake ? ” 

“ No, Cleones, your grandfathers be- 
lieved, your father and I believe as Plotinus 
taught, as his followers have always taught, 
and as Proclus is now teaching in Athens.” 

“ What do they teach, mother ? ” 

“ I am afraid you would not understand.” 

“ Ctesiphon’s mother told me long ago 
about her god, and I understood. She said, 
long years ago, Ctesiphon’s baby brother lay 
dead in her arms. She said her heart was 
very sore and she was angry with the gods. 
She thought, for some sin of hers or his 
father’s, they had taken the baby soul to 
send it into some beast or bird or flower. 
When she was almost crazed with grief, a 


CLEONES. 


241 


holy man came to her and told her about his 
god, a great father that loved her. He said 
this great father had sent beautiful angels 
and very gently and tenderly they had taken 
her baby’s soul straight to Paradise, where 
mother angels cared for it and kept it safe 
from pain or sin or sorrow, waiting for her 
until she should come to claim it. And 
when she found it hard to believe, he said 
his god would help her, if she asked him, and 
she did and she said a sweet peace came to 
her and she knows it is true, for she has felt 
it. Tell me, mother. I can understand, and 
I want to know what to say to Ctesiphon.” 

“ I will tell you, Cleones, and you must 
listen very carefully. First of all, more than 
two hundred years ago, Ammonius Saccas 
lived in Alexandria, an ignorant, common 
laborer, but just and pure and thoughtful 
To him the gods revealed many things, long 
misunderstood, and, although he could not 
write, he told these things to other good and 
thoughtful men, and they believed and 
remembered his teachings. His greatests 
pupil was Plotimus. He went to Rome and 
the emperor Gallienus and his wife, Salolina 


242 


CLEONES. 


loved him and honored him and believed his 
teachings. His life was one of constant self- 
denial and he so purified his body that the 
great soul of the universe could, without 
taint by contact, come to his soul and reveal 
many hidden mysteries. This was often 
done. Porphyry was his follower and 
Iamblichus, Sopater, Plutarchus and Syrianus 
and, last of all, our own Proclus. All of 
these men lived chaste lives, full of study, 
self-denial and generous deeds. They were 
persecuted by Constantine and Constantius 
because they did not believe in Christianity, 
and Constantine beheaded Sopater, saying 
he had bound the winds by magic, but the 
emperor Julian believed implicity the teach- 
ings of Iamblichus.” 

“ But, mother, what did they teach ? ’’ 

“ They taught first, how the world was 
made and peopled. Look at the sun, 
Cleones, see how its rays come from it with- 
out its choice or effort. So all things come 
from the first great cause, whom men call 
god. First from him came thoughts, very 
like him, because so near. These thoughts 
were not merely ideas, but really existing 


CLEONES. 


243 


objects. From these came the great soul of 
the universe, some call it destiny. From 
this soul came our souls. Down through 
the changes of countless ages our bodies and 
all terrestial things grew. This first great 
cause cannot think nor act upon anything, 
for He is all, and has no need of aught. 
Around him all things revolve, not because 
he ia a center point, but becavse dependent 
upon him. Of his nature, we know nothing. 
He first shines in Heaven, the highest and 
noblest place for the purest soul. And then 
in the stars, the first visible gods, who 
influence greatly all that pertains to mortals. 
In the space between the stars and the earth, 
the demons or spirits dwell. Through these 
our souls pass as they come to human bodies 
and are made beautiful or deformed thereby. 
Then they choose the body best suited to their 
impulses. Our souls shall go back to this 
god when perfected here. The nearer we 
live to pure, chaste, self denying lives, the 
sooner we shall be ready for the final union. 
Now, that is enough for to-day. Tomorrow, 

I will tell you about Proclus. Go get your 
Hero’s engine and fountain and let me 


244 


CLEONES. 


see you work them and when you are tired, 
we will play at checkers, jackstones, and 
dice, and my Cleones will forget the quarrel 
and remember only the love he bears his 
friend.” 



CLEONES. 


245 


Chapter III. 

The night after his quarrel with his 
friend and talk with his mother was a 
troubled one to Cleones. He dreamed that 
gods and demons were standing all about 
him, watching the spirit of his mother just 
passing into the burning lake, and not one 
of all of them could help, nor of the spirits of 
his ancestors, though they wept and wrung 
their hands. When he called out to them 
loudly, he awoke, and Penlia was obliged to 
call his mother, before he would be satisfied 
and sleep. The next day, as soon as lessons 
and gymnastics were over, he and his mother 
went into the court-garden for another talk. 

‘*1 want to stay close by you to-day, 
mother,” he said, “let the girls get a large 
parasol that will cover us both and then I 
can sit near and hold your hand.” 

The mother was not strong. For months 
she had been ailing, so they brought large, 
soft cushions for her to lean upon. Cleones 


24 6 


CLEONES. 


sat by her side and behind them a pretty 
slave girl stood to hold the parasol. Their 
gowns were alike, azure blue, loose, fastened 
at the shoulders and reaching to the ankles. 
There were yellow bands around the top and 
bottom of Cleones’ and the shoulder fasten- 
ing and the girdle were yellow cords and tas- 
sels. His mother’s was without trimming. 
Jewelled clasps fastened the shoulders, the 
girdle was of flexible gold. The bright col- 
oring of the palms, the myrtles, grape and 
gourd vines, the flowers of every hue, the 
moss covered walls of the house, the won- 
derful blue of the sky, the perfect forms of 
mother, son and slaves made the scene one 
of indescribable beauty. 

“ Now, mother, tell me all about Proc- 
lus and why he does not believe in the 
Christians’ god.” 

“ Very well, dear, and I will begin with 
his birth. His mother was not well, and 
months before he was born, his father took 
her to Constantinople to be near skilled phy- 
sicians. Proclus was born there. It is too 
bad it could not have been here in Xanthus, 
his home. And yet, perhaps it was better 


CLEONES. 


2 4 ; 


so, for the place where his mother stayed 
was near a temple, and at midnight, just as 
Proclus opened his eyes for the first time, 
a procession of priests going to the temple, 
passed the house. They carried bay boughs 
and garland-trimmed baskets with the sacri- 
fice, and chanted, in low voices, hymns to 
Apollo. The figures of the stars at his birth 
were the best possible to make a good and 
wise man. His mother’s health improved so 
rapidly that, when he was a few months old, 
they brought him home and though tempests 
raged and many ships were lost, no harm 
came to theirs, the roughest winds only sent 
it swifter on its way. When Proclus was 
only four years old, Apollo and Athene came 
to him. They gave to him their greatest 
gifts, manly beauty, courage, the spirit of 
poetry and of prophecy and his mother knew, 
when he described their looks and their 
actions, that something great and glorious 
awaited her boy. When he was thirteen he 
went to Alexandria to learn grammar from 
Orion and rhetoric and law from Leonas. 
Afterwards he studied mathematics andphil- 
ophy and then he went to Athens : his 


248 


CLEONES. 


teachers there were Plutarchus and Syrianus. 
They initiated him into the mysteries of 
Eleusis, and Plutarchus’ wonderful daughter 
of whom all the world has heard, the beauti- 
Asclepigenia, consecrated him with her own 
hands. 

“ He soon became the most wonderful of 
adepts. He did so many marvelous things 
that, although Syrianus had died and he had 
been given his chair in the academy, the 
emperor was suspicious of him and sent him 
away. He came home and I, myself, have 
seen him do most wonderful things, beyond 
explanation and showing that he has, in some 
degree, the power of the gods. I have been 
present with others, when he has called to 
earth and made to pass before us, one by 
one, in visible forms, the demons or spirits, 
who, I have told you, occupy the space 
between our world and the stars, and who 
often come near us, influencing us to evil or 
to good. 

“We could see them stalk about and 
could easily tell the evil and the good.”” 

“ Oh mother, were you not afraid ? ” 

“ No, Cleones, there is nothing to fear 


CLEONES. 


249 


except the influence of the bad spirits, such 
as controlled you yesterday, when you hated 
your friend. If Proclus had been here then 
and had shown you the wicked spirit close by 
you, I am sure you would never, never again 
listen when it whispered, it is so hideous. I 
have seen just such, and I have seen love, 
too, and it made me rssolve to listen and obey 
whenever it spoke to me, that I might have 
something so beautiful always near. Proclus 
is back in Athens now, and unmolested. 
He accepts every religion in the world, except 
the one that denies all others. He teaches 
plainly that the immortal in us shall go back 
to the immortal from whence it came. He 
shows plainly that the one great first god can 
have no thought of you and me. Only by 
subduing all earthly desires can we make it 
possible for our souls to turn towards him, 
and when they do, then there is harmony, 
not discord. Then there is sympathy, a rela- 
tion between them, and we like to be just 
and pure and noble. Our bodies are our 
misfortunes, and we must make them the 
cleanest, purest possible, then they will 
not so greatly vex our souls, and the hideous 


250 


CLEONES. 


spirits, discouraged, will go away from us 
But what these bodies do and what they feel 
can only keep us longer away. They cannot 
prevent the final union with the first great 
soul from whence ours came.” 

“ But, mother, Ctesiphon’s mother says 
her god is a father and he gave his son to 
die for us and we must believe in him.” 

“ But, Cleones, do you not see that, if 
he is our father and loves us, he will not do 
less for our souls than the great god Proclus 
honors, who only is, and does not care ? ” 

“ In a few years you shall go to Athens 
and study with Proclus and perhaps you may 
be worthy to be initiated into The Mysteries 
and learn what only the initiated know.” 
“ What are The Mysteries, mother ? ” 
“ I do not know. No one has ever been 
false to his vow of secrecy. For nearly 
eighteen hundred years they have been cele- 
brated and with great pomp and ceremony, 
but now, for many years, the ceremonies are 
secret.” 

“ Why are they secret ? ” 

“Because the new rulers thought the 
rites were wicked. How conld they be when 


CLEONES. 


251 


the state authorized them and paid the 
expense ? They forgot that when the great 
temple at Eleusis was destroyed, the wise 
Pericles rebuilt it. Some day, you and I will 
go together along the Sacred Way, from 
Athens to Eleusis. We shall see along the 
stone pavement the prints of the cars, 
wherein the mothers of poets, philosophers 
and statesmen sat. And not only the 
mothers, but the men, the greatest the world 
has ever known. Once every year, along 
this Sacred Way, passed the wise men of 
Athens, the satraps of Asia, the monarchs of 
Egypt and of Rome, and side by side with 
them, brave mothers, modest maidens, tired 
workmen and ignorant slaves, all intent upon 
the one great object, to be wiser and purer 
and sooner fitted for heaven. Proclus says : 
’ These Mysteries draw men away from sel- 
fish lives and fit them for communion with 
the gods.’ The whole way is lined with ruins 
now, even the magnificent temple on the 
mountain summit, where the way ends, is 
demolished. But pilgrims still go up to the 
pile of broken stones, to adore the outraged 
gods. If my Cleones would be fit to know 


CLEONES. 


252 

The Mysteries, he must learn first of all to 
bridle his temper and he must forget this 
Cleones and think only of the hidden soul 
that shall live forever. Proclus lives only 
for his soul. Sometimes he even forgets to 
eat. The gods are always near him. His 
beautiful soul is so perfect that they hardly 
condescend when they speak to him. You 
may be like him, if you will, learned and 
chaste, fit to live and fit to die. Then you 
need have no fear of punishment. 

“ But I am tired now. I must go and 
rest. Get your blocks and build a temple, 
and have it ready when I come.” 

When she arose to go, she grew very 
pale and sank trembling back upon the pil- 
lows. The slaves hurried to her, and lifting 
her, carried her to her room, When Cleones 
would follow, they motioned him away. 


CLEONES. 


253 


Chapter IV. 

It was a busy time with Cleones’ father 
Men were coming and going and buying and 
selling for many of his ships had come in, 
and were being emptied and reladen for 
another journey. Ordinarily Cleones would 
not dare to interrupt his father ; he did not 
hesitate now, but hurried to ho his room. 
Two strangers stood near. Without heeding 
them, trembling and sobbing he clung to his 
father’s dress. “ Oh father,” he cried, “ will 
my mother die and shall I see her on the funer- 
al pyre and have to throw the oil cruet, or will 
they put her in ;he cold dark ground, my 
precious beautiful mother, and oh, father, I 
am afraid of the burning lake.” Startled 
and frightened, the usually silent, self-con- 
trolled, undemonstrative man, caught the 
boy in his arms and tremblingly listened to 
his story of his mother’s white face and how 
she staggered and almost fell. “ Go quick, 
father,” he said, “ I will watch the coins.” 
Dismissing the men, his father left him. 


254 


CLEONES. 


There were always, night and day, two slaves 
in this room, for the treasure vault was under 
it. A block of stone could be lifted from the 
floor. It revealed a room lined with shelves, 
upon which lay precious stones, blocks of 
gold and silver and rows of coins. Cleones 
had seen specimens of most of the coins. 
Many of them were over a thousand years 
old. Upon the most ancient, as well as upon 
those of more recent date, were different 
forms of the trefoil. 

There were also pictures of lion’s heads, 
of fishes, of birds, of horses, as well as of 
many purely imaginary animals. There were 
some heads of women, many of men and 
scores of Athene in different styles. By the 
coins, Cleones had been taught to trace the 
history of Lycia. He had found many with 
figures and inscriptions like those on the 
tombs in the ruins. On the table were piles 
of coins : usually these would have been full 
of interest to Cleones. He liked to separate 
them and fix their periods and look for new 
ones : but to-day he did not notice them. 
He tried to keep back the tears, saying to 
himself, “ A philosopher would not weep, he 


CLEONES. 


255 


would hope and wait, and mother wants a 
philosopher.” 

When his father came back, he said, 
“ She was very tired, a glass of wine and a 
dark cool room revived her. We must be 
very careful of her, Cleones, she is not well.” 

“ Take her to Constantinople, father, to 
the great physicians, where Proclus’ mother 
was cured.” 

“ I have thought of it, Cleones, but our 
own good physician says it would only tire 
her, they could not help.” 

“ Then send to Proclus, he is very near 
the gods.” 

“ I have, Cleones, I sent a messenger to 
Athens on my last ship and returning, he 
said, “ Proclus bids me say, ’ I have no power 
to heal the sick or raise the dead, and I would 
not, if I could, for I consider the greatest 
good possible is separation from this tempt- 
ing, suffering, worthless body.’ ” 

“ Then, father, try all the gods and buy 
the costliest sacrifices.” 

“ I have, Cleones, I have spared noth- 

ing.” 

His hopeless, resigned look and tone 


256 


CLEONES. 


brought despair to the young boy’s heart, and 
then came to him, for the first time, tortur- 
ing doubts of the greatness and power of his 
father’s gods and with it a longing for some 
communion with the greatest god, who per- 
haps, after all, might care. Ctesiphon’s 
mother had told him only of the teachings of 
the heretic monk regarding her baby’s soul 
and Ctesiphon had taunted him with the 
burning lake. He knew nothing of any church 
doctrine, baptism or any of the sacraments. 
He only knew that Ctesiphon’s mother, in 
her greatest need had found peace and com- 
fort from the Christian’s god. 

When he had finished speaking, his 
father had turned to the coins and begun 
counting and sorting them. Cleones went 
to his mother’s room. The slave girl watch- 
ing at the doorway told him that she slept 
and must not be disturbed. He turned to 
his own room, where his games were, but 
nothing interested him. Calling a slave to 
follow, he went out to the hill where the 
ruins were. Here he had found a chamber 
made by the falling walls. He had hidden 
the entrance with a pile of stones, and no 


CLEONES. 


257 


The stones, in falling, had left several win- 
dow-like openings. In this room he had 
worked for weeks. On the ceiling and walls 
he had spread a paste of mud, and in it had 
fastened all sorts of pretty things, bright 
pebbles, odd shaped stones, shells, bits of 
moss and wood, till the little chamber might 
easily have deceived a relic-hunter, and led 
him to think he had found some robber’s 
cave, made beautiful for the one loved best. 
Here Cleones had planned to bring his 
mother when it was finished and perhaps 
(and this dream came always after listening 
to his parents’ love story) perhaps he would 
discover it first to some beautiful maiden 
who would be his bride. 

Cleones was not a favorite with the boys. 
His scholarly way of talking and his precise 
manners did not invite familiarity. His 
father’s wisdom and riches, the things that 
made the boys envious, made them also 
think him proud. But, although Cleones did 
rejoice in his father’s wisdom and his 
mother’s beauty, he was not proud. He 
would have been glad to be familiar and inti- 
mate with the boys if he had known how ; 


258 


CLEONES. 


one, not even his mother, knew of the place, 
because he could not, he suffered many 
hours of loneliness and disappointment. 
Ctesiphon liked him, but his Christian mother 
knew Cleones’ parents would not like to 
have him often with her ; and so, in this 
secret place, Cleones worked to forget his 
isolation and loneliness. He made friends 
with birds and bugs, and sometimes even 
wild animals visited him and took food from 
him. To-day, he left the slave, a few rods 
away, and went alone to his “cave.” In the 
corner he had piled twigs from sweet-smell- 
ing shrubs, these he kept covered with fresh 
leaves, He sat down upon this couch and 
thought over the terrible possibilities of the 
future. What life would be to him without 
his mother. What it would mean if, after 
all, Ctesiphon spoke the truth. He went 
over and over the teachings of Proclus and 
tried to find comfort and help, but again and 
again there came to him the picture of Ctesi- 
phon’s mother’s face when she said, “ I know 
it is true.” And again, and again, with greater 
vividness, the awful picture of his own deso- 
lation. Overcome, he lay upon the couch of 


CLEONES. 


259 


leaves and wept. A dove lighted upon the 
little window and looking in for its usual 
meal, saw the boy weeping. It hopped in 
and rested on his shoulder and made a soft 
cooing noise, as if comforting its own little 
ones. The beetles and others of his friends 
among the bugs came out and crawled softly 
and familiarly about. A little jackal stuck 
its nose through a crevice in the stones and 
made no motion toward the door but stood 
and looked upon the sufferer. Some boys, 
climbing over the hiding place, by the noise 
of falling stones, aroused Cleones. He 
would have been glad to have called them in 
and even to have given up the treasured 
room for the sake of their sympathy, but he 
feared their ridicule. He put out his hand 
to the dove and it lighted upon it. 

“ Oh, Birdie,” he said, “do you know 
my mother is sick and no one, not even the 
gods, can help ? Proclus says the greatest 
one does not care but the holy man told 
Ctesiphon’s mother that he did and now I 
want him to care for my mother, but I can- 
not ask him unless she says I may. I have 
done so many naughty things. I have been 



cross and angry and made my mother sad. 
Oh, I wish I had not. I cannot now do any- 
thing she would not like. Oh dove, pretty 
white dove, do you think it is true ? Does 
the great god care ? Has your soul wings 
too, and would you mind very much (and he 
laid his wet cheek caressingly on the bird) 
would you mind if I gave you, my prettiest 
pet, to the priest for the sacrifice ? And 
then would you send your white spirit 
straight through the demons, the stars, the 
living thoughts, right up to the purest 
heaven, where the greatest god is and tell 
him we would like to trust him, if he cares ? ” 
The slave called his name loudly, and 
he started up and the dove fluttered and flew 
away. Placing the stones back over the 
entrance, he went out to go home, for it 
was long past his usual meal time, 

Gradually his mother grew weaker and 
weaker. There were days when she could 
sit up and talk to Cleones and these filled his 
heart with hope, soon to be banished, for days 
followed when the physician was anxious and 
fearful, the slaves whispered and cowered in 
the corners and his father went about silent 





CLEONES. 


26l 


and despairing. Every one seemed to forget 
to comfort the heavy, breaking heart of the 
boy. His mother alone understood him. 
She knew how unusually thoughtful and care- 
bearing he was ; but to his father, he was 
only a little boy. He brought him sweet- 
meats and games and spoke cheeriully when 
there were comforfable, hopeful days, and 
aid nothing when they were discouraging. 
He thought Cleones did not realize the dan- 
ger and he meant to keep it from him as 
long as possible. Cleones was not deceived, 
but he could not speak his fears, so he was 
left alone with his sorrow. Day by day he 
thought over the teachings of Proclus and 
tried to be comforted by them ; but there 
came to him constantly the picture of the 
burning lake with Ctesiphon’s mother’s story 
of the beautiful carrier angels and the sweet 
peace. Night after night he crept to his 
mother’s room, and listened, hoping to find 
her alone and to ask the one great thing of 
her which he was sure she would not refuse, 
but there was always some one there to bid 
him be silent. The desire grew and grew 
and the need seemed so great that courage 


262 


CLfcONSS. 


came with it. Several months had passed 
since their talk in the garden. For more 
than a week, his mother had lain quiet, 
scarcely speaking. For one day, she had 
not noticed him when he came to her. All 
night he had lain awake, listening, trembling 
at every noise, lest Penlia should come to tell 
him that all was over and his mother gone 
forever. At last, as the day dawned, he 
could bear the suspense no longer and he got 
up and hastened to her bedside. He paid 
no heed to the earnest gesticulations of the 
slaves, and when his father motioned him 
away, although he grew pale and trembling, 
yet he did not stop. His mother opened her 
eyes when he came near and held her hand 
oat to him. “My precious boy,” she whis- 
pered. “ Mother,” he said, “ will you not 
take the Christian’s god too, and may I ask 
the great father god who cares to send his 
angels to carry you safe away from the burn- 
ing lake ? If it is a mistake, our gods will not 
mind, and oh mother, I must ask some one 
greater than all the rest to listen to me, 
some one who cares, and I cannot unless you 
are willing.” 


CLEONES. 263 

“ Yes, dear/' she whispered, “yes, you 
may pray to Ctesipho-n’s mother’s god.” 

Cleones knelt by her bedside and 
clasped his hands and lifted his face and, 
with one accord his father the proud philoso- 
pher, and the great physician and the trem- 
bling slaves knelt and clasped their hands 
and lifted their faces and the child prayed. 
When he had finished and arisen, his face 
wore the same shining look that the great 
masters put into their pictures of the Christ. 
He kissed his mother and went back to his 
room to sleep, for he knew, as Ctesiphon’s 
mother knew, when her baby lay dead in her 
arms, that some great and loving one had 
heard and had sent peace. 

His mother grew better, but only for a 
few weeks, but the same peaceful assurance 
stayed in the boy’s heart, and, without their 
knowledge, comforted and sustained the 
whole household. 

When they buried her, Cleones laid a 
cross upon her breast and though he still 
believed that Demeter, Appollo, Athene and 
Aphrodite brought the fruits and grain, and 
gave courage, genius and death, still, above 


264 


CLEONES. 


them all he placed the father god and 
to him he cried when his need was great. 




THE END. 



1111 1 Q 1 Q A*5 

JUL lo 1903 






























































































































































































